The River King
by Tensleep
Summary: Tim Shepard thought it was strictly business until the enemy hit a little too close to home. He shouldn't have been surprised: once a King, always a King
1. Teaser

I've been working on this for a while. It's just a little snippet from a later chapter in a multi-chapter story. Any interest?

Disclaimer: Pointless, but alas; I own nothing but the poor protagonist.

/-/-/-/-/

The bare bulb above me swung slightly, indicating someone was moving around upstairs. I knew someone was keeping a guard, making sure no one was coming for me. I let an impatient breath of air escape my lungs at that thought. No one would be coming after me, but they were careful little pricks. No, Thugs. That's all they were. Teenaged delinquents who thought they were something special because they belonged to a gang; because they followed Tim. Well, they'd be getting the surprise of their lives once I got out of here, dead or alive.

I glanced at where Curly was sitting on a crate by the door, looking away from me like he couldn't stand to see my face. He knew this was betrayal. He knew that not going through with this was also betrayal, but to Tim – his blood – and not me. Fuck, I was screwed.

"You alright, kid?" I asked, my voice gentle as sandpaper thanks to the lack of drink service around here.

"Shut up," he hissed.

"Curly," I sighed.

"I said shut up!" he yelled, moving from his perch and storming over.

He was trying to look angry, he was trying to look intimidating, but all I saw was that scared little kid, that one who was hurt and lost and upset. I felt for him, but I'd never tell him that. Not that he'd ever listen to anything I had to say again, but it was the truth, pure and simple.

"Why the hell did you do it, Danny?" Curly asked, his voice shaking with pain and anger. "How the hell could you do it?"

"It was never personal, kid. Once a King, always a King," I answered with a slight smirk at the irony of it all.

Curly clenched his jaw, looking like he was going to scream if he didn't. I watched him pull his arm back and I steeled myself for the punch I knew was coming. And when it struck, it struck with more than just physical pain. Little Curly Shepard had actually hit me. That fact was what hurt the most. But it was the least of the pain I could expect. The real pain bringer was about to walk through that door.

"Curly," Tim's voice carried smoothly from the doorway. "I thought I told you he was mine?"

I watched Curly, not Tim, as he closed the distance between the door and where I was tied to that damn chair. Curly looked like he was going to tell Tim off for a split second before stepping back, his hands still in fists. I twisted my own fists, trying to get some slack from the ropes digging into my skin. If I could get one hand free…

"Hi, Tim." I smirked up at him. "Funny meeting you here."

"You won't think so when I'm done with you," Tim commented with a smirk of his own.

I froze inside then. So this was how it was going to be. Damn it. I was really hoping it wouldn't come to all this. I looked Tim over, noting the fact he never left home without his switchblade, and that he was aching to try out that new set of brass knuckles he'd picked up last week. It wasn't going to be pretty.

"Curly, go upstairs," I ordered, looking him in the eye, silently pleading with him to just go, not to watch as his brother beat the life from me.

Curly shook his head, looking again like that scared little kid. He looked like he did the day he fell off that telephone pole and broke his arm.

"Tim," I growled "Don't let him watch this."

"Let him watch. He needs to see what happens to traitors." Tim was smirking again and this time I didn't bother to steel myself against his fist.

All I could hope for was unconsciousness to find me as quickly as possible, so I could forget it was my own brother who was beating me, and that it was my own brother who would end up dying because of it.

* * *

Should I continue? Hide in shame?

Meh.

See ya in th funny papers!

Tens


	2. Monday Part I

Ok, new story, but nothing new for me. Wonder if I can finish this one…Thank you for all the great response! I read each and every review and thank all of you for reminding me I am appreciated...sometimes ;). Anyways, I went for a vague first chapter, so y'all have to work to figure out this very interesting character who managed to find himself imbedded in my imagination. Sorry about that. But I plan to thoroughly abuse him. Now, onto the useless things I think I have to do before I get much further...

Disclaimer: Shepards, Curtises, and other characters from Hinton's world are obviously not mine. Shame as that might be, I do have our dear Danny Blake, the various River Kings, and other characters he'll meet throughout the story. Now, that's what I own. When I started this months ago, I borrowed Jakob Calligher from Chronic Sarcasm, and figure to keep him for a while.

Dedication: For Tag. He'd know why.

So, without further adieu…

_The River King_

Well, that little scene looked a lot more painful than it actually was, come to think of it, but for right now it was the furthest thing on my mind. That would make sense, since it won't happen to me for another month and a bit. And right now – a month and a bit ago – life wasn't so bad. I had a roof over my head I was rarely under, I had people to call family who acted like they were anything but, and I was currently sleeping off a pretty good party. I know. It begs the question of how things got so fucked up, but I'll get there.

It started after that hell of a party. Most people would wish they had never gone to the party, but they'd have sought me out either way. They being The River Kings, that is. They needed me. And I was dumb enough to think I could play the game I got caught playing.

You still with me? Yeah, I'm not with me, either. But I got time to get it straight, for myself, and for all of you dumb enough to feel sorry for me. So I suppose I should start telling my story from the beginning, rather than from the middle. Yes, getting beat up by Tim wasn't the end of anything. It all started on a Monday – go figure that one. All the worst stuff happens on Mondays…

Monday 1 month and a bit ago…

It had to be a Monday. There was no way around it. I only ever felt this shitty on Monday mornings. Blame the drinking or the fighting if you want to, but I always put the weight on the day itself. I actually had to get out of bed after two days of doing nothing and get back to the real world - and that was the real reason why Mondays sucked so much.

I groaned and rolled over. Even that little movement made me feel like I had strained every muscle in my body. I yawned tiredly and tried to go back to sleep when I didn't hear loud, pulsing music coming from the wall beside my head. Normally Angela would have her favorite anti-war tune blasting through the wall in the mornings, and it always started world war III between the two of us. She seemed to figure I wasn't a threat to her at this time in the morning. That was true. I was practically useless before a cup of coffee or a hit came my way. I was going to have to move to get either of them, but it was definitely too early in the morning for a hit. And with no rock tunes being belted, I figured it was a good day to laze about in bed for another couple minutes. After that party, I needed it.

Last night I had given in and went to one of Chet Cameron's parties. I hadn't been to one in so long that it was starting to look suspicious on my end. Believe me, with Chet Cameron, you never wanted to seem suspicious. The only reason I got away with it was a mystery to most anyone who didn't grow up with us. It was obvious he had a soft spot for me – to a point. Once you crossed that point, you knew you had to do something big to get back on his good side. Believe me; you wanted to be on his good side. People who weren't on his good side ended up dead and that part wasn't so mysterious.

I just wish this damn headache would go away so I could think through everything. I popped a couple Aspirin from the nightstand and waited for them to take some of the bite off it.

I finally stumbled out of bed and stretched, working the kinks out of my back before running a hand through my hair and reaching for the doorknob. Yeah, that's how small the room was. It didn't bother me; hell, most days I only slept in there and found something on the floor to wear. I guess that said a lot for how much it felt like a home. Hell, life in the Shepard house never was enough to make it seem like home. The drinking, the fighting, the backhands…Oh, the apple pie life I always wanted.

Man, maybe if I cut out the smart mouth, I wouldn't have Pop on my case so often. I smirked to myself. Nah that would be too much work and it wasn't worth it to try. Hell, I doubted he would even notice. So I offered the room a slight shrug before stepping into the hallway of the quiet house. Now, that wasn't so unusual because someone was always sleeping it off around here – mainly Pop – and quiet was the name of the game. But there should have been some sign of life from Evelina, at least. I counted my blessings and looked down the staircase with dread.

The damndest things ended up on the stairs. There'd been a dirty pot there for about a week, and the stacks of newspapers just got taller - an oddity since we never had one delivered. There were some beer bottles, and a hub cap for some random reason I would attribute to Curly's sense of humor when he was drunk. That kid had one seriously screwed up imagination when he wasn't quite with it. I sighed and watched my step, kicking off a dirty pair of socks on my way, and not caring if they ended up on the useless mail table. Hell, the only thing that was good for was stopping the idiots who partied here from jumping the railing and breaking their fool necks or something.

And when I finally got to the bottom of the stairs, I realized that today wasn't shaping out to be a bad day after all. I had yet to be bitched at, I wasn't feeling the usual hangover as badly as I should have, and I was almost sure I had the house to myself for once. Feeling my mood lighten considerably, I sauntered over to the couch and sat down. There was a bottle of beer sitting open on the table beside the couch. I picked it up and sniffed the lip cautiously. With a shrug I downed the last of the flat, warm liquid. Yeah, flat beer sure was awful, but it beat being thirsty. I shrugged at myself, remembering the only other thing to drink was water, and since last Tuesday the taps had been producing a bronze colored substance I didn't want to even relate to water. So it was back to swiping the old man's booze.

I let the empty bottle idle in my fingers while I settled back into the couch. It smelled musty, but it was an improvement over the vomit stench that had clung to it over the last few months. I didn't even know who to blame for that one, so I didn't bother. I set my feet up on the milk crates we'd shoved together to serve as a coffee table. We'd had a wooden one, but it had been shattered into at least twenty different shards during a fight months ago. Things didn't have much of a long life around here, that was for sure. I glanced over at the TV and wanted to laugh. The screen was cracked in a spider web pattern and I noticed the lamp was missing. Even I could put two and two together.

"You sure pissed her off this time, Pop," I muttered to myself.

You see, my father and Evelina Shepard were both in their second marriage, and neither was ever afraid to show their feelings for the other. They went at it whenever he was drinking or she was bitchy; so maybe two or three nights a week were fight free. But they could have at least left the TV out of it. Now there would be nothing to entertain Pop around work and I was going to have to make myself scarce. When the TV was on the fritz, the easiest way for Pop to entertain himself was to beat the shit out of me. I was not going to let that happen again. I couldn't move for two solid days the last time, and I couldn't take that much down time.

I sighed and glanced over at the clock on the wall. It had been stopped at 3:18 for the past month. There were cigarette butts scattered all over the place, burn marks marred the once orange carpet, and the curtains were drawn shut. To say Chéz Shepard was quality digs, you'd have to be blind and have a couple other key senses on the fritz, too. Oh, and a taste for alcohol. Everyone in this house seemed to think it was a good time to drink themselves stupid. And Curly Shepard, at 16, was no exception. He was only a couple years younger than me, but I still thought of him as a kid. That was because he still acted like one. I glanced at where young Charles 'Curly' Shepard was currently making his way down the stairs and nodded. Definitely still a kid.

I smirked to myself. Tim, with another two years on me, probably thought the same thing when he looked at me.

But I was currently being entertained by Culry and not Tim.

He carefully made his way down the stairs, avoiding the creaky step, and looked around cautiously when he got to the bottom. I glanced over at him and picked up another half empty from the side table by the couch.

"She's not home," I informed him. "We probably ran out of booze last night."

Curly squinted over at me and stumbled over to the couch. He dropped down beside me, resembling a sack of potatoes, and blinked at the TV.

"It was bad last night. They've never killed the TV before. My Pop did, once," he added as an after thought

There was one unspoken rule in this house, well there was more than one, but the one that Curly and Tim both coveted was about their father. No one mentioned Butch Shepard, except Angela, and she only did it when she was out to torment her mother or get my Pop to leave. Evelina had mentioned him once in comparison to Pop, and that started a fight that broke a few chairs and several booze bottles. I think that was the fight that broke the coffee table, too. Like I said, no one went out of their way to piss off Pop.

"Well, unless you or Tim wants to skin your teeth stealing another one, I suggest you get used to this channel." I nodded at the shattered screen that would never show another program.

Curly grunted in reply and looked up at the ceiling with unfocused eyes. I reached into my pocket for the couple Aspirin I always kept, pressed one to his hand, and offered him the beer I had been absently sipping. I didn't like feeding the kid more booze, but I liked feeding him that dark water even less. He took them and quickly downed the pill with a swig of beer to follow. I gave him a long glance before speaking again.

"And why the hell did you make yourself feel like shit this week?"

"Beat listening to them sober." He tried to offer me a shrug, but it turned into more of a muscle twitch. "You?"

"I don't remember. Ask Chet. And I feel a hell of a lot better than you do, kid," I corrected.

I didn't even get an answer. Curly had his eyes closed and I knew he wouldn't be moving for the next hour or so. It was the same song and dance routine every time. I'd given up carrying the kid up the stairs after he hit sixteen. He was almost as tall as I was now and he outweighed me, unremarkably, by at least ten pounds. It made him stocky and tough looking. If he was going to look like he could hold his own, he could take care of himself. I was done fretting over him.

I had a lot more to worry over than little Curly Shepard and his methods of drowning out our parents.

God, Chet. Why the hell did you have to put me in such a fucked up situation? And to think, I was four months away from freedom. I knew he couldn't have waited. I just wondered if I could have talked myself out of it had anyone but Chet asked me. And also, why couldn't there be a fresh brewed pot of coffee on when I woke up? Just once it would be nice.

"Where's Tim?" Curly asked and I shrugged.

"Probably still asleep. And before you can ask, Pop's either at work or passed out on a buddy's couch, and Evelina is shopping or something," I replied. "The real question is where is Angela."

Curly grunted in reply. He knew as well as I did that Angela was normally home right around this time of day, especially in the summer, and that we should be covering our ears from that loud music. You knew you were in trouble when you didn't know where Angela was.

"'Probably trying to get a glimpse of that Curtis kid down at the DX. If not, she has a new boy toy," Curly replied. "Byron something."

"Byron something?" I repeated. "Sounds like a queer."

Curly smirked and I knew exactly what he was thinking. That would be a switch from Angela's regular fare. She never associated herself with boys who didn't want into her pants.

"Some small time kid – probably a middle classer. He looked like he was clean cut," Curly added the last part.

"And you would know?"

"Yeah. I saw Angel eying him the other day and put two and two together."

I smirked then and patted Curly on the shoulder roughly. "I'm proud. I never thought I'd live to see the day you put anything together."

"Go to hell, Blake," he growled. "Aren't you late for work or somethin'?"

Shit.

"Hell, Curly. The boss would die of shock if I bothered to show up to work on time," I told him, but got up to go nonetheless.

"Hell, he only keeps you around because you scare the hell out of him."

I glanced over at Curly, who had managed to pull himself along the couch, laying on it from end to end. He looked like he'd been through the mill. I was tempted to go on over there and sit on him, but like I said earlier - the couch was just starting to stop smelling like vomit.

"I'll have you know, I cook a pretty mean burger, Chucky."

"Don't call me that."

"Then don't even think about throwing up on that couch. And you might want to find somewhere else to sleep before your mom comes home."

Curly groaned in response. I just smirked a little, shoved my feet in my shoes, and took off down the front walk, making my way into the east side. Not that the house wasn't in the east side, but I always considered where I laid my head to be in neutral turf. Now, the east side was where I had lived for the past 4, almost 5 years. It was all small time territory where the worst you came across was Tim and his little drug ring, or the Brumleys and their robberies. Up north, now that's where the action was. There was always some gang going against another. The Kings and the Tigers were constantly feuding, and you had to be careful where you went, even in a car. One wrong street crossed, and you could find yourself with a bullet in your side, a bunch of tough hoods standing over you with the intent of making sure you only ate Jello for the next month. It was what most people would call a dangerous place to live, but that was only if you were a gang member or in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But no matter how rough the north side was, your home was somewhere you could leave behind all that shit for a couple hours of sleep and some food. No one ever got shot at the breakfast table on the north side. One step out the door and you were fair game, though. Most folks didn't like it. As for me, I grew up in the thick of it and…

I missed it something awful. The east side made me lazy, sloppy. I knew it was going to kill me some day and I was going to kick my own ass for it. Just four more months and I would be eighteen and legal, and I wasn't going to waste any time getting the hell out of here. I could already feel it shaping up to be a long four months. Damn it, Chet.

"Hey, Blake!"

I sighed and stopped walking. At least the lackeys on the north side were Chet's lackeys, and not Tim's. I glanced at one of Tim's nameless cohorts as he walked closer to where I was standing. No, wait; this one had a name – Booger.

"Make it quick; I'm late for work."

"You're always late for work. Calligher says he wants to see ya at five sharp. That gives ya a full hour after work to get yer shit together," he pointed out helpfully.

"I'll be there with bells on."

Like hell.

"He didn't say nothin' about what ya wore or didn't wear," the guy replied.

"And you manage to breath and walk at the same time?" I shook my head.

He paused to think on it, reinserting his finger to his left nostril, and I just kept on going.

Who the hell did Calligher think he was? Being second in a gang meant you could easily boss around the lackeys. I wasn't a lackey, and Calligher knew that. I'd wager he knew I wasn't going to show, either. He just liked thinking he had some say. Or maybe he was just getting too big for his britches after ordering Curly around for so long. Who cared? I just married into Tim Shepard's little family and kept my nose out of his gang. We both thought that one was for the best.

You see, in a place like Tulsa, everyone knew everyone. Your rep was generally more famous than you were, and mine was pretty inflated.

My name's Daniel Blake. I was from the north side; an ex River King groomed to be the next leader of the gang. Tim Shepard may have had to call me family, but he wasn't going to bring someone with my past into his gang. That was common sense and common knowledge, which should explain why I had a job instead of making a cut on the drug running Tim did.

But there was one thing that wasn't common knowledge.

I was still a River King.

And that little technicality was what was going to make my life a living hell.

* * *

Well, if I read this over again, I'm going to end up deleting it. Let me know what you think and yes, it was another vague chapter, but I liked it and I did give you a name!

Any comments at all are welcome and flames are accepted.

See ya in the funny papers!

Tens


	3. Monday Part II

Ok, well, I didn't promise this was going anywhere, but I have been prodded along, so here's a nice long chapter for all of you. Plus, my Internet got unplugged, so I figured why not? That'll show my dad. I so need my own place…

Dedication: to Zevie – the biggest push on this. Don't go thinking this will get you stuff, now ;)

Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns the Outsiders and I own everything else.

On with the show!

When I left work, I had a lot on my mind to think about.

First, there was the most obvious thing – the grease burn on my arm. I hadn't thought it was anything to worry over, but it was bitchin' at me like there was no tomorrow. Kinda reminded me of my stepmother. She bitched at me for everything; enjoying that she could turn the small things into something huge. Her kids were apparently fucking angels in comparison to me. I was often quick to remind her that Curly was in and out of the reformatory, while Tim was always coming home with blood on his knuckles and a warrant on his heels, and Angela was spreadin' her legs for every guy she met. Last time I'd gotten that far, Evelina'd walked off with my blood under her nails, hollering for my Pop to "come and teach his fuckin' kid some manners." Pop had taken one look at the scratches along my cheek, threw a vase in my direction, before screaming at Evelina for touchin' his kid. Don't get me wrong, Pop was always up for a good beating, but they had rules. He didn't touch her kids, and she didn't touch me. Yeah, parents of the year…

But like I said, that wasn't the only thing on my mind. You see, Switchblade Sam had come to see me today. I should have just followed through with my instincts and kicked him outta the diner, no matter how much trouble that would put me in with Chet. He had money – the first one of my babysitters I had made pay for his meal. Yeah, I said babysitter. Chet…he was a busy guy. He could give me an assignment, but he just couldn't be there to make sure I went through with it. This one was a choice I had to make, but he was still going to make sure someone encouraged me along. Right now, I didn't know whether I was angrier with Chet or Switch. Chet made excuses and was never around, but sending Switch? He was only two years older than me and I'd been around a hell of a lot longer than he had. Who was he to tell me what to do? I honestly was mad enough to tell the whole River King gang to go to hell.

I huffed, putting the whole afternoon out of mind. Instead, I turned left instead of right, and headed towards Tim's clubhouse to see what the hell Calligher could possibly want. I had nothing to do with the Shepard gang and I aimed to keep it that way. Fuck Chet and his newest babysitter. And when I saw Calligher, I was going to tell him something similar.

Tim had a clubhouse not two blocks from our house. It used to be part of this little strip mall once upon a time. Now it was a pretty good party spot, apparently. Liquor and drugs floated around and music was always playing, but that was later on. Right now the place was just getting ready for business. More than likely, Calligher would be the only one there and I would have only one of Shepard's gang to deal with. Well, it could have been worse.

I walked in and spied Booger sitting along the bar. With an inward sigh, I corrected myself. Things could always get worse.

"Calligher," I called and waited.

A minute later Calligher poked his head out of the back room. His black hair had some dust in it, a sure sign he was looking for something in that storage room. He looked a little surprised to see me.

"I really didn't expect you to show," he said by way of greeting.

"What do you want?" I asked, not wanting to dick around.

"Nice to see you, too. Care for a drink? I have a couple hits hanging around, if you're inclined?"

I growled and Calligher shrugged in an 'I tried' fashion, before sitting down and motioning I should as well. The table was one of three in the main room. It didn't sit right anymore and we wouldn't have sat there if I had taken the dink. As it was, Calligher looked slanted as I rested my chin on both of my fists, elbows on the table.

"Well?" I asked, impatient with this.

"I was going to ask you to do me a favor," he started and I glared at him.

"I won't tell you again. I'm not dealing any shit for you, you got that?" I asked.

A couple years ago, Tim had started to seriously deal out drugs. Calligher, always thinking he was the brains of the pair, suggested that there would be a bigger market up north where the serious hoods were. Thing was, they were either covered, or they were flat out cut off. But Tim was game to try and went to the only person they could think of who knew the north side intimately. I'd told them both where they could go and I'd thought they'd dropped it. That was until Chet told me otherwise. You know, if you wanted to get technical, it was Calligher and his dumb ideas that had really got me into this mess. He should have never suggested toeing in on Chet's territory.

"I'm well aware of that," he answered with a tone of strained patience.

"Then why the hell are you asking me?"

"I haven't asked you anything yet, kid," he sighed. "Listen, I got a cousin who needs a full time job. You think you can manage that at your diner?"

"Depends what you think your cousin can do," I answered.

"She's leggy. She's pulled the waitress bit off before; worked with animals for a long time, too, so she's pretty good with people."

"How's she related to you?" I baited, watching as the line in his jaw tensed.

"Danny, I'm asking this as a favor. She needs the job. Can you handle it or not?"

He sounded like a weak imitation of Chet right then, and I was filled with that same resentment I had been battling with since Switchblade had walked into my diner.

"I can handle anything and everything you throw at me."

Calligher nodded and we sat like that for a few minutes. He finally sighed and leaned back in his chair, looking at me like I was something worth studying.

"You really had a bad day."

The statement was thrown right out there and I felt a smile escape my defenses. A laugh followed and I nodded. I was going to get it something awful later, in more ways than one, and I knew it. And hey, that was pretty damn funny to me for some reason. I blamed the stress of the day as Calligher smiled a little. He got up and grabbed a bottle off the bar and brought it back. Whiskey. Now, I could barely stomach hard liquor, but I didn't mind whiskey as much.

"If you give me that bottle, I will get your sister whatever job she wants."

"Cousin, and you can't have the whole thing - you'll make yourself sick. That, or you'll get it all over that burn and wish you were dead. Looks like a third degree."

"The fryer and I got into a tussle," I shrugged as he handed me three fingers worth. "I won."

"No, offense, but I'll believe you after I get the fryer's side of the story."

I was about to call him a smart ass when Tim walked in the door, Curly in tow. He glanced over at me before going up to the bar. Tim, on the other hand, made his way over like he meant business. Calligher sat up a little more and offered that easy going smile, but Tim was having none of it.

"When are you going home?" he demanded.

"When I feel like it," I answered, taking another drink from Calligher. "Why?"

Tim gave me a look that plainly said he wanted to hit me, and I wondered what the hell had crawled up his ass. At 21, Tim Shepard acted older than anyone else I knew. I supposed he had to be one scary son of a bitch to keep that bunch of hoods in line. But you'd think he'd smile once in a while. He did smile, don't get me wrong, but never when I was in the thick of things. He didn't like me and I didn't like him, and it was something we'd known since I was thirteen and shoved into his life.

"Your pop is looking for you."

Shit.

"Thanks for the heads up," I replied.

"That wasn't a warning." Tim gave me a long look and I glared at him.

What Tim wasn't saying was that Pop was even more irritable than usual because of the TV being out of commission. He was saying that something had to be done before our parents killed each other. If he thought I was stupid enough to go home and give Pop something to beat, then he was very much mistaken. I wasn't afraid to take a beating, but I wasn't going to the gallows because Tim Fucking Shepard ordered me there.

With that thought in mind, I left the clubhouse and headed for Buck's.

Now, Buck Merrill was an odd guy, but he was smart enough to know he wasn't smart enough to say anything. So a lot of illegal dealings went down over at his place and you could pretty much hide anything or anyone you pleased there. I always showed up for a little under aged drinking. Tonight, though, I was just looking for a good game of pool. I'd been hustling it since I was ten and I enjoyed it. There was no better…well, there was fighting, but pool was the best way to blow off steam at the moment.

Since it was suppertime, there weren't many people at Buck's and the first six games I played were solos. I was lining up my last shot – the elusive eight ball – when someone put their hand on it and had the nerve to pick it off the table. I glanced up and sighed.

"What the hell do you want?"

"The boss said to tag you 'til you came up with an answer," Switch supplied with a shrug.

"Chet knows I will send him an answer when I'm good and ready," I growled back. "So set the ball down and back away."

"C'mon, kid. You think I wanna be followin' you all over town?"

"You think I'll let you?" I asked, leaning on my pool stick.

"I think you won' have much say in the matter." Switch put the rack on the table and started racking up the balls, setting up a game I hadn't invited him to join.

"We'll see."

Switch glanced up at me and shrugged slightly. He was just taller than me, with dark hair and grey eyes. You could see a least two prison tattoos on his arms and I wondered if he was too stupid to know when to quit, or if he liked the punishment. As far as I knew, Switch had been up the river at least three times, and he wasn't even 21 yet. Tim didn't even have that under his belt. The only hood in the area who'd had worse was Dallas Winston. He'd been up the river before he hit his teens. That had to be illegal. I'd ask Wills the next time I got hauled in.

"Tell you what, kid. You don' want me here, and I sure as shit don' want to be followin' you around. So I'll play you for it."

"For what, exactly?"

"You win and I'll go on home and leave you t' figure out things on your own. I win and ya make up your mind – tonight."

I looked him over, wondering if he was any good. I had never played pool with the guy, so I had no idea if he was a hustler or someone who generally knew enough not to be hustled. I considered the options as Switch finished racking up the balls.

I was good. I'd learned from all the other members of the gang. But did I want to make a deal?

"C'mon, kid. This's the best deal you're gonna get."

I sighed and leaned over the table, already knowing I was going to regret this somewhere down the line. What can I say? Maybe I was glutton for punishment, too.

"Alright."

"Good."

Switch smirked as I broke. Three balls went in right off the bat – two solids and a stripe. Moving to the other end of the table, I sunk the two and looked over at Switch.

"Solids."

He nodded and I lined up another shot and another, until I finally couldn't make another shot without sinking his balls. Scratching, I nodded him to the table and backed away. In a matter of moments, all the balls were sunk, except for the two solids I had left when I had come to that impasse. Damn.

"Let's get a drink, kid," he suggested. "I'll give you a couple minutes to really think 'bout it."

We sat down at the bar and Buck brought a couple beers over before we could ask. He wandered off down the bar and I sighed. I really hated who I was right then. Every other guy in the bar was just an average Joe. Was it too much to ask just to have an average life?

"Run it past me again, Switch," I ordered, clutching my beer.

"All Chet wants you t' do is get close to Shepard, keep an eye on him, and report anythin' he's doing to Chet."

"Tim will know something's up."

"Chet's sure you'll find somethin' to settle him."

I ran a hand through my hair and took a swig from the bottle I was nursing. Did Switchblade have any idea what placating Tim would involve? He'd spent nearly five years alternately ignoring me or trying to get me into the fold. To be honest, he'd given up on the latter of the two a long time ago.

"Yeah, right."

"Listen, kid, you can turn it down and walk away – no penalties, as usual. The thing is, if Shepard keeps up the way he is, Chet's gonna be the one hauled in by the cops for the traffickin' going on."

"The fuzz have never touched him for it before," I pointed out

"Yeah, that's 'cause Chet ain't stupid. He makes sure that everythin' goin' on is kept under the radar. He gets respect and keeps control. You get a new dealer in there, shaking things up, and not fisting the control, and the cops are goin' t' be pretty suspicious. When they come snooping around, it'll be up north, not down here."

I took a swig of the beer, letting that sink in. Switch didn't think I had it quite down.

"If you just sit by, your brother either goes away or becomes a murderer, probably both. All because Tim Shepard is tryin' to push his limits in this town."

What he was basically asking me to do was choose between my families. Trouble was, he already knew who I would pick.

"What about Tim, though?"

"What about him?"

"He's making waves enough to warrant being watched."

Switch looked at me carefully and I looked right back at him.

"Chet said this guy is related to you the same way he is. He knows how you feel. I doubt he would think of using ya if he planned to do more than teach him and his gang a lesson."

I hoped to hell that would be the case.

"All you have t' do is make nice with your stepbrother and keep an eye on things for us." Switch nudged my clenched hand with his bottle. "We scare him into leavin' our turf alone, and Chet avoids jail time."

"Then what?"

"Then business as usual."

"No, I meant about me. Tim is not stupid. He's going to tie this all back to his only north side connection. Then what?"

"Then I suggest you run like hell before you get caught, boy."

I gaped at Switch and he gave me a straight look in return. That's when his face broke into a smile and he chuckled.

"Shit kid, you look like someone killed your dog."

I glared at him and took a long drink from my bottle, tapping the bar when it was empty in prompt for a new one. Buck handed me another and Switch threw him a look that basically told him to screw off somewhere else. Buck sent me a look I was too drained to respond to, before he disappeared down the bar. I glared at Switch again and took a fresh pull off my bottle.

"Jesus, kid. You think Chet fuckin' Cameron of all people would not have thought about that? Jesus Christ. That was pretty much the first thing he planned out when Riggs suggested he use you."

Denny Riggs was the second in command of the Kings gang. He babysat me, until he got shot one morning and decided he was going to prove he was the toughest guy on the north side or die trying. You had to admire the man. He was tough, but he and Chet were still a pair of criminal geniuses.

"He said that if'in your step brother catches on, you're t' come right back home and he'll make the excuses."

"And if I get caught before then?"

"You sure are a negative kid. That won' happen. Chet won' let it happen to his little brother."

Yeah, shows what he knew…

* * *

Any comments at all are welcome and flames are accepted

See ya in the funny papers!

Tens


	4. Another Day, Another Dollar

Wow. It has been a long time since I got stuck on this one. Honestly, I just recently figured out how to write this chapter. So, after nearly a year on stall, I present the continuation of The River King. Thanks to Zickachik for betaing!

Disclaimer: The usual.

On with the Show!

The next morning, I woke up feeling like I hadn't slept at all. It was probably because my head was buzzing with everything after Switch left. He'd said he'd check in on me, but until then I was on my own and ordered not to do anything stupid. I knew the drill. I'd been on my own before.

That wasn't what bothered me. The whole situation was a big thing to take in. It all came down to allegiances and it was obvious that I had picked Chet last night. Chet was my big brother by marriage and the only person in the world I trusted completely. I couldn't let him down when he really needed me. Tim was my brother, stepbrother, but we'd never gotten along. He never needed me around; in fact, he'd probably be happy if I was gone. Maybe things would have been different if I'd been there from a younger age or I had have been more open to another brother at the time. As it was, I was shocked I got along with Curly as well as I did. Angela and I would sooner kill each other than be in the same room, but Curly was the only Shepard I saw with a future out of the neighborhood. Lately, I was reconsidering that opinion. He was too enchanted by the power Tim had. He wanted to be part of it, to get his share of everything Tim had. He'd learn some day that it didn't work like that. And now I wasn't going to be around to see him learn the hard way. Any way this went down, I was going to be on the north side by the time Curly got himself in serious trouble.

Was it any wonder that I didn't manage to get any sleep until it was almost daylight? When Angela's music started thumping through the wall at eight am, like it did every day, I was almost too tired to lift my arm and give my customary bangs. Not that that ever worked, but I wasn't about to let Angela think I was giving in without a fight. We'd had the same routine since I was thirteen and condemned to living in Chez Shepard. My room was at the end of the hall, wedged between the side of the house and Angela's room. For some reason, that set-up made it seem like the wall between our rooms wasn't even there at all. I groaned again as a song with a lot of bass picked up, wondering if jail time would be worth it for killing her. At this time of the morning, it seemed like a perfectly reasonable idea.

"Damn it, Angela. Turn it down!" I hollered, raising a fist so I could hammer on the wall again.

The music suddenly got louder as I recognized a tune that was Angela's favorite for the past two weeks. I growled and hauled myself out of bed. I'd had enough.

While I used my room for just sleep and clothing, Angela lived for her own space. She was always scrounging something to tack onto the wall. Posters covered nearly every inch of her walls, along with pictures and even some drawings. Even the door in the hallway wasn't spared from that torture. I hammered on the face of some actor whose name I didn't know and waited for some response from within. I'd learned early on that you knocked if you didn't want an even bigger bitch fit to accompany the one you were there to initiate. Today I didn't even get so much as a 'what the hell do you want?' Taking that as an open invitation, I opened the door and squinted at the lights she had on in there. She must have been under the misconception that there was something to do during the summer this early in the morning.

"Angela, I thought I told you to turn down the fucking music," I groaned.

Angel glanced up from where she was painting her lips and sent me a look that was anything but impressed.

"You have to get up anyway, Blake," she replied. "And besides, I heard you come in last night."

"Doesn't mean I was sleeping," I growled.

"Shows how smart you are." She turned back to the mirror she had hanging on the wall between hooks for all her hair things. "Now, get out of my room."

I ground my teeth slightly. Angela and I were the same age. We associated with some of the same people and even were forced to walk to school with each other when we were younger. It was because of Angela that I dropped out of school last year. I couldn't stand being in a building with her and her bitchy friends and asshole boyfriends. She went out of her way to make sure I was miserable. It got to the point where I had maybe ten minutes peace a day and once Angela figured out where the library was, I didn't even have that. Working was much better. There was no way she could bother me there and it was too far out of her way to bother coming down to the diner.

"Turn down the music." I wasn't budging unless I knew there was a possibility I could get some more sleep.

"It's my room!" She snapped at me. "I can have the music as loud as I like it!"

"I said turn it down."

"Go to hell," she weighed all three words like I was slow in the head.

I was sick of this. I moved to cross the room and turn off the music. Angela was toe-to-toe with me a moment later, claws at the ready.

"Don't touch that!" She hissed.

"Then turn it off," I countered.

"Get out!" I shook my head and she took a deep breath. "Get out!"

I winced at the shriek. Angela learned well when it came to raising her voice.

"Make me!" I finally yelled back.

That's when she decided to play dirty.

"Mom!"

I glared at my stepsister; thankful I only had the one, and winced as Evelina yelled for the pair of us to shut up. Angela had her turn to glare at me when Evelina shouted for the music to go off, too. She spun around to do what she was told and I left the room hoping to get some more sleep.

I stepped around the door to my room and collapsed onto the mattress. Yeah, the room was that small. I think it was originally intended to be a large storage closet or something. Knowing the people who built houses in this neighborhood, it could have very well have been bad planning and a frantic attempt not to look like complete morons. They could have easily expanded Angela's room and gotten more for the house. The double mattress took up the width and length of the room and there was a box by the head of it that served for a bedside table and had the added bonus of keeping the door hinges from straining too hard and actually letting the door open more than part way. It wasn't much, but it complied within the parameters CPS set down and even had a window. It wasn't like I spent much time there anyways. I usually just grabbed clothes off the far side of the bed and went on my merry way or slept for a while when I needed it.

It took only moments for me to fall asleep after Angela yelled a few curse words at both her mother and me before her door slammed shut. After that, I didn't know anything until my door shoved open and connected with the mattress, jolting me from sleep.

"You're still asleep?"

I glanced up at where Calligher wasn't looking impressed.

"What're you doing in my room?" I asked, turning my back to him in hopes of more sleep.

"You promised me you'd take Kate down to the diner today to see if you could get her a job," he replied like that was obvious. "And technically, I am not in this broom closet you call a room. I don't know how you even squeeze in there."

I sat up on the bed, trying to remember who the hell Kate was and what she had to do with Calligher. I wasn't reaching any epiphanies. Calligher sighed impatiently.

"Blake, are you going to get up or not?" he asked and I glared at him.

"I'm sitting up," I challenged.

"I'll wait for you downstairs then. You're already over an hour late."

"Only?" I asked, shaking my head.

Calligher didn't bother saying anything else. I took my sweet time getting up and finding a shirt to wear. It was ten minutes later when I joined Calligher downstairs. There was a leggy brunette leaning on the couch beside him. If I didn't know any better, I would have thought she was one of the trashy girls who hung around Tim's clubhouse. However, I did know better, so I kept my trap shut. I was too tired to deal with a pissed off Calligher girl slapping me. Then there was Calligher's leggy cousin to contend with…

"I'm here," I pointed out needlessly. "Let's get on with it."

Callgher frowned at me like I was a constant aggravation and nodded towards the chick.

"This is my cousin, Kate Calligher," he introduced. "This is Daniel Blake."

"Nice to meet you," she replied and I ignored her. She wouldn't think so after a couple hours in the diner.

"Just ignore him. I have the sneaking suspicion he was born without manners," Calligher advised and I snorted.

"I advise you don't introduce her to Curly then." I started towards the door. "You comin' or what?"

She threw a long look at Calligher before following me out into the bright morning. I shut my eyes and cursed before shoving my fists in my pockets. Calligher followed us to his car and they both climbed in, so I assumed we were driving. I sat in the back seat and didn't give any sign that I wanted their company or conversation.

No, I was remembering last night again and the decision I'd made. I was too busy mulling over that to be distracted by some dumb broad. The only problem was, I wasn't getting anywhere on how to actually pull it off. The obvious thing would be to get in good with Calligher and work my way up. Thus, I was behaving myself on the drive. I sighed to myself. I was in way over my head.

I was glad when we finally walked into the diner and I didn't have the luxury of thinking about my own problems. The place was packed, unusually so, and I wondered if there was some convention in town, the only time we ever seemed to fill up. I looked around and didn't see anyone out front, so I led the way into the kitchen.

Mr. Dawson was standing at the stove, flipping bacon for the breakfast specials still being served. He looked up when I came in and gave me a look I knew all too well. I was late, really late. Curly joked that Mr. Dawson was scared of me and wouldn't fire me because I could slit his throat. It was closer to the other way around. The first month I started working here, he looked like he was ready to kill me anytime I looked up from the worn tiles while Lily, his daughter, was around. I was only thirteen, out of place, and starving. Lily was friendly and fed me. It was a wonder I was still alive. No, Mr. Dawson kept me around because I was still that starving kid and Lily was like my sister. Not that I'd tell anyone that. The guy didn't scare the shit out of me anymore, but I was smart enough to know I wasn't above his temper.

"Uh, hi," I offered. "Looks busy."

"Tell me something I don't know or shut up, kid," he growled and I nodded.

"So, this is Lucy."

"Kate," she corrected, but no one was paying attention to her anyways.

"Yeah."

"And?" Mr. Dawson asked.

I glanced up at Mr. Dawson, realizing I had looked at the worn floor. He owned the diner and didn't seem impressed whenever I made a suggestion. I should have told Calligher no on the whole job bit just for that reason. It would be a miracle if Lucy walked out of here with a job. He was wearing an apron that in no way made him seem more feminine and I knew for a fact he was almost ready to get out of here for the day. He took the early morning opening shift and I took over around nine AM. He handled the till after that, but his wife died a little while ago and without her around, he didn't stick around longer than he had to. So that was Lily's job.

"And she needs a job. She can waitress – give Lily some help," I added and he glared at me.

I didn't really see the problem; she looked nothing like Calligher, so the ugly factor didn't apply. She was leggy, seemed nice enough. What was the problem?

"You are getting too damn big for your britches," he accused and I stiffened. "You know how to waitress, girl?"

Lucy nodded and Dawson nodded back. "Fine. You start tomorrow. Get out until then."

Lucy threw him a look I noticed Calligher sometimes sent Tim when he was doing something that displeased him. So it was a family thing. She sent me the same dirty look and left a minute later. I shrugged and went to the back to grab my own apron. I'd always felt comfortable at the diner. My mother was a waitress all of my born days and I had often spent hours in diners she worked in. That's how she met Dad, her second husband – Callum Cameron. He'd frequented the diner she was working in and noticed all the bruises Pop would send her to work with. He never did anything about it until I started coming in with the same bruises. I think I was around three years old at the time. I shook my head. It didn't matter. It was a long time ago and what I barely remembered wasn't worth much in the grand scheme of things.

I sighed and tied my own apron around my waist. The rush out there was dying down and I had the feeling that the place would be dead again by eleven. Now, most people don't see a guy like me working for a living unless it was hustling booze, drugs, or weapons. I'd had my hands in all that growing up, but I didn't touch the stuff anymore. Most guys will tell you that when you have a record, working honestly for six months was the best way to put the fuzz at ease. Well, I didn't have much of a record beyond running away and fighting, but I had a rep that had the fuzz just waiting for me to slip up. So I worked five days a week over at Sal's diner with nothing going on under the table and tried to keep my ass out of trouble on the weekends. I was willing to put up with a slow morning for the rest of that. Plus the pay was steady and there was free food as long as I cooked it. It was a blessing in my life, especially when I couldn't count on a meal at home five days out of the week.

My stomach seemed to be waiting for that cue. A loud rumble filled the room and I cursed, not remembering the last time I bothered to eat.

"Well, it sounds like you're still alive."

I turned and nodded to Lily. She hadn't been working here long – just since her mother died and her boyfriend got himself killed over in Vietnam and she got engaged to some Soc all in the span of two months. Working with Lily was much different than just having her hanging around all the time.

"Yep."

"I hate it when you do that," she told me with a shake of her head.

"Hate what?" I asked.

"When you're an hour and a half late," she replied. "You're never this late."

"So?" I asked, moving to grab my hair net.

"So, the last time you didn't show up to work after an hour, we didn't see you for two days you were beat up so bad." She scowled.

I shrugged. So Lily thought I was beaten or dead in a ditch somewhere just because I was later than usual. I didn't have to feel guilty about that, but at the same time, I did. They always carried on when I was gone without a word and ignored the bruises when I came back.

My stomach growled again and I sighed, knowing it was going to be a long time until lunch.

"Blake!" Mr. Dawson hollered.

"Coming!" I hollered back.

"You're not going to eat something first?" she asked and I shook my head.

"With your dad in the mood he is? I like my skin where it is, thank you."

"You know Dad likes you," she chided and I shrugged. "He just doesn't know how to show affection."

"Kinda like a Grizzly, right?" I smirked.

Lily rolled her eyes and I made my way over to the stove knowing it was just the beginning of another day and even if I was tired and hungry, I wouldn't have traded it for the world.

Who the hell was I trying to kid? I'd have traded it for a cheeseburger and fries with a Coke. I was starving. If half my orders made it out without picking at them, then it would be a good day. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

I Know, not a lot of action in there. The next chapter is a little more eventful and guess what? It's written!

Any comments at all are welcome and flames are accepted.

See ya in the funny papers!!

Tens & Zickachik


	5. Dads, Pops and Belt Buckles

Alright, more action in this chapter. Hopefully it makes some sense. Any mistakes are mine since I fiddled with it post-beta. Thanks to Zickachik for the great job before I got inventive.

Disclaimer: The usual

On with the show!

For the next few days, it was easy to pretend that nothing was going on outside my life as usual. Angela and I ended up in a few spats through out the week whenever we ended up in the same room together, Curly seemed to be my personal shadow, and Evelina was out to get me any time I so much as tried to pop in for a meal. Don't get me started on Pop. Every time I bothered to come downstairs, I was on edge. I'd taken a hit all three times I was within ten feet of him. He hadn't replaced the TV yet and he was about as pleasant to be around as a grouchy old wolverine.

Tim still thought the best solution was to let Pop beat the hell out of me until he was back to his growling-but-mostly-harmless self. That idea didn't work for me. In my opinion, I thought that he should tell Pop about why he was suddenly such a homebody. Tim was at home a lot recently, but it was obvious that he was anything but pleased about it. I knew the signs. He was laying low; keeping aliases while something out there was going on he didn't need to be fingered in. That or he was already in trouble. I let out an amused noise at the thought. I knew better than anyone knew just how much trouble he was in. I also knew that for now, he was safe. What would be the point of coercing me to get in good with him if Chet was just going to have him killed before I could do what he asked of me?

What? Have you met Chet? He'd kill Tim in a minute if he thought it would solve everything. It would. He'd send a powerful message and mark his territory clearly to anyone else looking to get in on his business on the North side. The only problem he'd have would be between us. Tim and I may not get along all that well, but he was still my stepbrother and Curly's hero. Chet knew I'd get over it if Tim were killed like that, but there would be an uneasiness between us. Chet had too many plans for that to happen. He was always planning. It was what made him such a good leader. A good leader who didn't need all the grief Tim was bringing down on him. Which led me back to the biggest complication in my life these days.

Speaking of my assignment, it wasn't going very well for obvious reasons. Tim and I had spent five years working against each other. We weren't going to work together overnight, especially when I still had yet to even approach him. Every time I thought about trying to get in good with him, something came up to start a fight between the two of us. It was like trying to make friends with a mean old dog.

I shook my head. This was far too serious to be thinking about before breakfast and hot coffee. Chances were I wasn't going to get any downstairs, but it was worth a try.

Curly was the only one at the table when I walked in. He was munching on dry cereal. It was a good choice on his part since the milk was tinged an interesting green shade. I smelled coffee and figured it was long cold since Pop had to be to work already. I picked up the pot anyway, figuring that cold coffee was better than no coffee, and went over to sit down beside Curly. I picked up an empty bowl off the table and ran the edge of my shirt along the inside of it, just to be safe. Then I helped myself to the cereal and poured coffee on it. Curly gave me a disgusted look, but let it be.

"Where's your mom?" I asked and he nodded towards the backyard where the clothesline was.

"She seems to be in a good mood this morning," he told me. "So don't piss her off."

"I'll leave that for you and your other monkey siblings, then," I teased, wishing he wasn't greasing his hair so I could ruffle it. He hated that.

"Monkey what?" Tim asked from the doorway, arms crossed over his chest not looking impressed.

"Siblings," I answered calmly.

"You better watch your mouth, Blake."

"With where my eyes are, watching my mouth is pretty much physically impossible," I replied.

Tim sent me a glare before flopping down on the other side of Curly and helping himself to the coffee that was left. Tim didn't often join the family for meals. I didn't all that often, either, but if I was hungry enough, you'd see me. It was practically a blue moon when Tim and I were both at the same meal.

"If you see Calligher, you tell him to pop in," Tim informed Curly, ignoring the fact I existed.

"Why don't you just go see him?" Curly asked and Tim sent him a look. I didn't blame him; Curly didn't know what we knew, despite being part of Tim's gang.

"Because I do the ordering. Do as you're told," Tim ordered, smacking him upside the back of the head.

Curly coughed and sputtered, cereal going down the wrong tube. I thumped him on the back as he gasped for air.

"At least wait until he's done chewing," I snapped over at him.

"Don't tell me what to do with my kid brother," he replied with a glare.

"I wouldn't if you weren't doing such a bang-up job," I drawled, sarcasm evident.

Tim stood up, looking like he wanted to have it out right then and there over the breakfast table when his mother walked in.

Evelina Shepard was at least a head shorter than I was. She was thin and always smelled like cigarette smoke. She looked like she was constantly scowling. Maybe that was just when I was around, I wouldn't know. She scowled at me and then to Tim.

"You two sit down and stop bitchin'," she ordered.

Tim glanced from his mother to me and sat. I was about to, now that I made my point, when something slammed into my back and I ended up sprawled across the table for a minute trying to catch my breath. I'd forgotten about that damn rolling pin. I was going to feel that all day.

"I won't let you start trouble this morning, you ungrateful little…" Let's just say she continued on with that line of flattery.

Anytime Pop was gone and she could take a piece out of me, she would. Out of the whole clan, she was the only one I feared. I knew for a fact the only reason I was still here and in relatively good health was because Pop would take flack for it and finger her. Even with as big a fan as I was of my Pop I would have sided with him in a heartbeat over her. Like I said, for the most part, he left me alone unless he was bored or frustrated. Either way, I managed to get out of his way most of the time. With Evelina, she had no tells. She was like that all the time.

"Well, as lovely as this has been, I have to be going," I said, standing up from the table and brushing off the crumbs I had collected when I was shoved into it.

"You be home for dinner," she ordered and I felt my shoulders tense.

"Why?" I asked.

She never wanted me home for a meal unless there was something she wanted Pop to beat me for. I hadn't done anything – recently.

"You just be here!" she snapped and I was out the kitchen door before she could say anything else.

Yeah, I wasn't sticking around for that rolling pin to land another hit. Instead, I put one foot in front of the other and made my way to the diner. I was early for once which didn't seem to faze Mr. Dawson either way. I thought it was a pretty typical day until Lucy put her head through the window just after the noon rush.

"There's a guy here who says it's your lunch break."

I glanced up at here and wondered what she was talking about.

"Describe this guy, Luce."

"It's Kate," she replied, like she had every time I'd called her that. "If you want to know what he looks like, look for yourself."

She was new. I never looked for myself in case it was someone who wanted to start trouble in the middle of a confined space. Lily walked over and smiled at me as she leaned over the window, too.

"Your dad's here," she told me. "Usual booth."

"Thanks," I offered. "You got this?"

Lily rolled her eyes at me. I took a half an hour lunch break daily, but I always tried to get any outstanding orders finished up so she wouldn't have to deal with them. With Lucy around, there was someone to cover Lily on her breaks instead of me darting back and forth between the stove and the customers. I hated to admit it, but Calligher had managed to make my life easier with this one.

I removed the hairnet and the apron before picking up one of the coffee pots, a couple clean mugs and making my way into the main part of the diner. Dad was sitting in the last booth looking old and cantankerous. He was older than Mom by a long shot when he married her and he was showing his age a lot more since she died almost five years ago now. Callum Cameron had to be pushing fifty. Chet was thirty already. Another three and a half months and I'd be eighteen and maybe then they'd finally treat me like I was an adult instead of a little kid.

"Hi, Dad," I greeted, sitting down. "This is a nice surprise."

Dad nodded, pouring both cups full of coffee. "I haven't been in this month."

I nodded. Dad liked to pop into the diner at least once a month. It was random and he'd caught me with bruises a time or two at least.

"How've you been?"

"Pretty well," he replied, taking a sip of his coffee. "Busy."

Dad was a welder. He worked as a contractor locally mostly doing piping in new buildings. He didn't always stick to Tulsa, either, but there was a new hotel going up and I figured he'd be involved. I keep telling him he should retire and let Chet pay the rent. That always got me a dirty look, so I didn't mention it now.

"How's school?"

I looked down at my coffee cup. Dad hadn't been pleased when I dropped out. He rubbed it in whenever he saw me. He told me when I dropped out that he wanted more than that for me. He said that even if I had a future with my brother, I should try to do something legal. He'd talked college and everything. He just didn't get it. He didn't have to live with the Shepards.

"Work is fine. Got a new waitress, so I have less running around to do," I told him and he gave me an annoyed look before taking another sip of coffee.

"How are things with your father?"

"He's gunning for me right now – the TV's busted," I told him with a shrug. "And his wife is trying to get us in the same room."

Dad scowled over his coffee, obviously not impressed with how Pop and me got on. Now, here is often where people get confused, since I had a Pop and a Dad. Callum was Mom's second marriage. I was about two or three at that point. She just up and left Pop one day and they eloped with Chet and me in tow. When Mom died, Dad and Chet couldn't keep me. Apparently there was some legal thing where he and Mom hadn't been married because she was technically still married to Pop. That never stopped Pop from marrying Evelina, but it meant I had to go live with him when Mom died. It was a very complicated thing, especially when you were thirteen at the time and trying to just make adults listen to you. If I had a choice in the matter, I would have never left the North side.

None of that changed the fact Callum was the one who raised me and I still called him Dad. I even randomly ended up back at home sometimes and Dad obviously came to the diner, but that was about all the contact we had. It would have been perfect if I could have stayed with him and Chet, but I'd learned at a young age that you didn't get perfect in this life. I was lucky I still had both Dad and Chet hanging around, even if they weren't legally my family.

"You know where the key is, if you need to come home."

I nodded. "I'll be fine, Dad. A backhand every once in a while builds character."

"Daniel," he snapped and I ducked my head. He never called me Daniel unless I said or did something stupid. "I don't ever want to hear you repeating what those people consider parenting. Got me?"

"Sorry," I said, taking a sip of my coffee.

"Go make us some sandwiches," he sighed.

I nodded and got up to do as I was asked. Lily glanced up from where she was flipping burgers on the stove and nodded to where she had two sandwiches and French fries going.

"Thanks, Lil," I said, meaning it.

"You alright?"

"Yeah. I just have trouble talking to him sometimes." I shrugged. "It's hard when you don't have anything in common anymore."

These chats were always a great reminder that he hadn't been taking care of me for five years, even though he was clearly the better parent. Say what you like about Chet coming out as a criminal, he was still jail free, respected, smart, and people did a double take when they found out who he was because they expected someone with Tim's record instead.

"Well, yell if you need pie to smooth things over," she advised and I smirked.

"I might just take you up on that."

Through the meal, Dad and I spent most of the time making small talk about everything. Like I said, it was hard when you have nothing in common. I always had stories about Angela and Curly and he always talked about something work-related or who in the neighborhood was having fights on the front lawn with who. We both talked about Chet – he was always a safe topic between us as long as I separated the brother from the gang leader. And even though we exhausted everything we had to say, it always seemed like we could have said more when it was time for him to leave.

"You be good, Dakota," he said sternly as he affectionately gripped the back of my neck.

"You too, Dad," I replied with a nod.

When he was gone, I turned around and almost walked right into Lucy. I think she crowded me like that just because she knew I didn't like it. She was mean that way. I never did anything to annoy her.

"Why'd he call you Dakota?" she asked and I shrugged.

Dakota was my middle name and it stuck when I was a kid. The whole north side always called me it. Mom just happened to have me in South Dakota when she was visiting her dying sister. If I had have been a girl, I would have been a Rose instead of a Daniel.

"Dakota Blake. It doesn't fit." She turned back to what she was doing before this random conversation and I sighed.

Yeah, it didn't fit. Not here, anyways.

Lily talked me into cooking dinner at the diner and it was well after nine when I thought about going home for some sleep. The house was dark when I walked in – something that was a little odd at this time of night, but I wasn't really paying attention when I walked in. It was quiet, too. That wasn't usually good around here, but I was hoping for quiet since I was ready to just go to sleep. I kicked my shoes off and stripped my coat before stepping into the main room. I froze after the first step and backed right back up against the closed door. See, I nearly walked right into my pop. I had only one idea why he would be waiting in the dark for me.

"You sure managed to piss your mother off, Daniel," Pop offered.

I met Pop's gaze and kept my mouth shut. Correcting him about exactly who my mother was wasn't going to get me anywhere. He hated being contradicted.

Now, most people would tell me that submission was the way to go. It was the worse thing I could do. It would just provoke Pop. He was a coward who got his jollies when he knew he was in control, completely. Showing him he had it was an invitation for him to use it. I'd been through this song and dance enough to know how it went. Sometimes if you stared him down, it was enough to make him waver and even leave. I was hoping it would tonight.

"Where the hell have you been?"

"Working, Pop," I told him.

Pop gave me a look that said he believed me about as far as he could throw me. I knew that was about a few feet; nowhere close enough to the twelve blocks to the diner.

"Have you eaten?" I asked, hoping to distract him. "I'll cook you something."

"Your mother cooked dinner. She told you to be there," he replied.

He wanted me to contradict him. He was pushing all the right buttons. But if I didn't say anything, he would try to find something else to make me crack. Let him work.

"You didn't show up so I had to listen to her bitch and complain all night," Pop growled, stepping into my space again. "I had to suffer because you felt like being a little shit."

So? It wasn't like she wouldn't have found something else to bitch about. If he was waiting for an apology, he was going to be waiting a long damn time. It was another invitation I wasn't going to give him.

Pop glared at me and seemed to lose patience with his own little game. I could feel his breath on my face a moment later and I was forced to look down if I wanted to smell anything but the alcohol on his breath. That's when he won.

"I am the only reason you don't live in an orphanage," he rumbled. "Me and your mother put a roof over your head. This is the thanks you give her?"

I bit my lip. I was not going to say anything. I was not going to make it worse. I wanted to be able to walk tomorrow. I was going to take my hits and that was the way things were going to be.

"Anything to say for yourself?" he asked.

"No," I replied, knowing it was the only answer I was allowed.

He studied me and I would have run if I thought I would have gotten anywhere.

"You're a mess. I should have done away with you when you were small." Pop glared at me. "You're just a pain in the ass. No wonder your old mother killed herself."

It was the same old manipulation. I knew I was above it, that the words didn't mean anything, but it still bit. Mom didn't kill herself. She got caught in a shooting. Tonight Pop was getting the facts mixed up, waiting for me to lash out at him.

"There's only one thing that ever works with you."

I flinched then. I'd fought my whole life, mostly with other kids. I wasn't afraid to take a skin beating. What made me flinch was the hand that went to his belt. I wanted to fight and run. It was bad when he was mad and tonight he was mad. It was worse when he was sober and from the way he was looking at me, I knew he hadn't drunk enough for my liking. Add on the ornate belt buckle and I was in for it. The design on that thing looked like it could easily shred skin.

I glanced up the stairs, imagining I was already up them and in bed. I wasn't surprised to meet Tim's eyes. This wasn't the first time he'd watched. I didn't know why he did. If he thought it was some comfort to me, he was wrong. It made it all the worse. So I looked back at my father, aware of the tremble that went through me as he circled me with the worn black leather dangling from his hands.

I was scared out of my mind. No one but Pop could do that to me. The worst thing was that he knew it. But still I stood as the buckle of the belt bit into my shoulders and then all over. All the time telling me how worthless I was.

And the whole time I cursed Pop in my head, remembering there was a key waiting for me. All I had to do was make it through this. I could make it through this. I was too damn stubborn not to.

* * *

Well, I have the next one written, but it needs an edit before anything can go ahead. I hope everyone is enjoying because I am enjoying the writing.

Any comments at all are welcome and flames accepted.

See ya in the funny papers!!

Tens & Zickachik


	6. An Oppertunity

Well, the story continues on. I honestly have no idea what I want to say here... Thanks to Zickachik as usual! Still working on that award!

Disclaimer: The usual.

On with the show!

I don't remember passing out, but I woke up sprawled out on the couch, blinking up at the stained roof. The just-barely-awake haze slowly faded and I fought to stay loose and as still as possible. I knew my back was in shreds and the weight of my own body would be putting me in enough pain in a few minutes. I steeled myself to the pain as it slowly began pulsing through my body. I knew there was no way I was moving today even though the only thing I wanted to do was get as far away from this place as possible.

I wasn't going to be going into work today, either. That didn't really bother me with how shitty I was beginning to feel. What bothered me was that sooner or later Evelina was going to make me feel real pain if I laid here vulnerable all day. She did that anytime I was laid up after a beating. I never bothered complaining to Pop. Ten bucks says he would go after Curly in retaliation. So I kept my trap shut because Curly didn't deserve to get beat because his mother was a moron. He didn't deserve to get beat because Pop liked to keep things even. He didn't deserve to get beat because I was worthless and deserved what I got.

So I stared at the ceiling until I heard someone moving around. Pop was probably at work by now so that left me with only Shepards to expect. I was tensed and the pain was just getting worse, but if I moved, the pain I would be in would make me wish for the pain I was in now. So I waited, knowing the fascination the Shepard clan had with injuries. If it was bloody, they were interested.

Suddenly Tim's face loomed over mine and I flinched. Damn if that didn't hurt…everything. Tim frowned at me and I tried not to let anything show on my face. I don't think I pulled it off.

"You look like a piece of meat through the shredder," he commented while I just tried to keep my breathing even but too shallow to jar my ribs. "He use the buckle end?"

I shifted my gaze away, not really remembering if I took the buckle or the leather the whole time. I'd felt the buckle at the beginning, but Pop didn't need the state looking in on this, so he may have switched before he cut me up too bad. The only difference was the buckle end could tear your skin open like nothing else and the leather just left you with welts that sometimes bled. Either way, it hurt. Pop had never been that vicious with me before. Usually I took my licks, got cut up a little, and took a beating. I'd never felt my back bloody enough to feel suctioned to the back of the couch like this. If Tim's consideration was anything to go on, I wasn't doing so hot.

Tim simply nodded like he already knew the answer. He looked from my right eye to my left and I wanted to chuckle. Tim Shepard may have dropped out and couldn't tell you what the capitol of the country was, but he'd seen enough injuries to be a pretty good field doctor. Whether it was at home or out with his gang, Tim had seen enough to be an authority on concussions, contusions, abrasions, burns, and broken bones. He was often the one around here that made the calls when it came to professional help or bed rest. I figured that I'd leave that to him. I didn't ever want to be an authority on anything so gruesome.

We stared at each other for a few minutes. Right then, it didn't matter that I was Chet's pain-in-the-ass kid brother or Tim's pain-in-the-ass, unwelcome house guest or even the guy he nearly tussled with over breakfast yesterday. Right then, I was just the beat-up kid on his couch and I was miserable. He'd help me. Whoever said Tim Shepard didn't have a heart really wasn't that far off. He did do responsibility, though, and today, it was his responsibility to take care of this before it got worse. To say he knew his mother well was an understatement.

"C'mon. Let's get you up," he sighed.

I shook my head and gritted my teeth at the movement. Great, another concussion.

Tim was looking like he was thinking on something and I wondered what I could have given him to think on.

"Either that or wait for Curly, but I doubt he'll be home before Mom," he told me.

I nodded and Tim smirked down at me slightly. I braced myself and tried to stay loose without being as weightless as a dead fish as Tim pulled me up. I yelped in pain when I was separated from the couch cushions and Tim cursed, muttering about the damn couch. I glanced back and was pretty sure the couch was going to be covered in bloodstains until we threw the damn thing out. At least it beat smelling like vomit. Tim hardened his features and threw my left arm over his shoulders. My right one came up to protect my ribs and I was sure Pop kicked me with his boots on again. What I wouldn't have done for a drink or twelve.

"C'mon, we're going on a car ride," Tim told me, helping me limp to the front door.

"Car ride?" I wheezed.

"Unless you want me to sew your back up," he replied. "Jake has much neater stitches."

I moaned in pain from both moving and the thought of someone stitching my back up. I hated stitches. I could feel the cuts reopening as we walked, though, and I willed myself to keep taking slow and deliberate steps. Tim let me set the pace, so it took a lot longer to get to the drive way than it should have. I was pretty sure I was going to fall over before we made it, but Tim was stubborn. That was one thing Tim and Chet had in common. I often wondered what things would be like if they'd just work together. Tim was young and could easily be incorporated and Chet always needed good people. It would have worked out well for the pair of them. They were just greedy.

I figured that was the concussion talking and forgot all about that train of thought when Tim helped me into the car. I think I passed out again because the next thing I knew, both Tim and Calligher were helping me out of the car again. I whimpered at the movement until they finally set me down in the back room of their clubhouse where there was a bed, well, a cot anyways.

"Hey, you should wake up now, Blake," Calligher advised.

I wanted to say something rude to him, but all I managed to do was try and push him away with my left arm. He was playing touchy-feely along my ribs and it was like being prodded with ten finger-sized bricks.

"He should be at the hospital," Calligher said, glaring at Tim.

"We don't have the money," Tim told him and I wanted to back him up. I hated hospitals.

"Then you should take him to his other brother. I'm sure he has money," Calligher said, jabbing my stomach, and I groaned loudly.

"And you think I'd walk back out alive if I drug him up there looking like that?" Tim shook his head. "Just sew him up. Worse comes to worst and we'll take him north, but that's only if he's going to die on us."

Calligher bit his lip, looking down at me with pity in his eyes. "Let get some alcohol in him."

Now, see, this is one of those times I liked Jakob Calligher. I could go for a bottle of whiskey. When Tim handed Calligher a bottle of Bourbon, I knew I wasn't going to get to enjoy this at all. Tim helped pull me up and Calligher tried to force-feed me the bottle. I twisted my head a few times until I was dizzy and leaned my head back on Tim's shoulder, panting. Calligher had no problems then and I coughed and sputtered around the foul drink. It seemed like no time later I was feeling fuzzy. It didn't last long. I was suddenly on my front, screaming and bucking at the searing pain in my back. It didn't take a genius to figure out what they did with the other half of the bottle. There was sobbing and tears and it was undignified and sissy as hell, but finally, I found unconsciousness again for the second or third time.

When I woke up again, I was still face first in the cot. Everything was back to that hazy phase. I knew in a few minutes that everything would at least be a dull throb, and that was if I was lucky.

I blinked and looked around the room, wondering why Tim hadn't tossed me off at home yet. He didn't like me in his clubhouse. I figured he'd like it even less if I was laid up here. And from the way I was feeling, there was nothing in this world that could have forced me to move anymore than was necessary.

"Hey, Kiddo."

I closed my eyes. I did not need Jake Calligher trying to be nice to me. He should just leave me to my own misery.

"You should wake up. Hard part's over," he told me, laying a hand on my shoulder.

I wanted to ask for whom, but then the smell of Bourbon hit my nose and my eyes flew open. I was going to be sick if he even brought the bottle up to my face.

"What's the matter?" he asked and I swallowed audibly.

The ironic bit was I was parched.

"You want some of this?" he asked, looking puzzled and holding the bottle up from where it was on the floor by the bed.

I closed my eyes tight, trying not to take in the smell. I couldn't stomach Bourbon. I'd drank a lot of it just after Mom died and the resulting alcohol poisoning I ended up in the hospital with was enough to put me off the stuff for forever. The fact Pop beat me for it when he got me home and then made me drink even more of the stuff until I was sick again didn't help.

"Well, you're cut off," Calligher's voice cut through my nostalgia. "Water and Aspirin from here on out. We need to thicken your blood up again."

I felt myself slump in relief. I could do water and I could do Aspirin. Calligher brushed my forehead and I opened my eyes to shoot him a glare.

"No fever, which is good," he pointed out needlessly. "I think you'll survive this one."

I nodded slightly. Someone told me once that dying didn't hurt, that if I could still feel something, than my sorry ass was still alive. Wish I remembered who.

"You know, Tim and I were talking while we worked to get your back into once piece yesterday," he started and sat down on a chair close to the cot. "We're going to take you to your Dad's place tomorrow."

I blinked at him. I could have kissed him. I wanted nothing more than to just curl up in my own bed and forget about my Pop for good. The only problem was, Pop always came for me when I ran away home and it was always worse when he caught up to me. That was the reason I never left Chez Shepard permanently. If Tim approved of the idea, though, it wouldn't take much convincing to make Pop believe my birthday was in September instead of November, especially if he was drunk.

But I had another problem. Chet gave me a job to do and as much as I hated it, this was the opening I had been waiting for. All I had to do was convince Calligher. So I did the hardest thing I think I'd ever had to do – I turned him down.

"What do you mean, no?" he asked and I let out a little sigh, noticing my ribs were bandaged along with the cuts on my back.

"I can't," I rasped. "Just come an' get me again."

"Tim thinks he'll let you go this time. You're nearly eighteen," Calligher pointed out needlessly since I knew exactly how old I was.

I guess it must have been news to Calligher, though. I didn't look seventeen. I still looked like I was about to hit the same growth spurt Curly did at sixteen. It was a Blake trait. We hit our spurts late right around eighteen. Height, muscle and the need to shave all hit then and that was the end of it. I still looked like a kid, but like Curly said, I still looked like I was dangerous.

"No." I shook my head.

"C'mon, Blake. He might just kill you next time," Calligher sighed like I was a tiring child.

I laid my head back on the pillow; miserable with the fact it was a very real possibility.

"I need help," I said softly, hating how young it sounded to my own ears.

"That's what we're trying to do," he replied, but I shook my head. "What do you need help with then?"

"I have to get away," I told him, pulling out the most pathetic mask I could muster and I don't think I had to try very hard. "I need help."

Calligher watched me for a moment before what I was asking for seemed to sink in through that thick skull of his.

"That ship has sailed one too many times, Danny," he told me with a shake of his head.

"Please!" I choked. "I need enough to get away. I need to get out of Tulsa."

"And you think you're going to finally bury the hatchet with Tim and take a cut?" he shook his head again. "He won't let you in on the business, not now. You told him off too many times, Danny."

"I can do it," I told him.

I really could. It didn't take a moron to traffic drugs in Tulsa. Case in point: Tim and his lackeys. I'd turned it down in the past because the fuzz had my number and Chet made sure I understood that the only drugs I was ever going to touch were on his orders. He told me he didn't need me addicted to the stuff or trying to make deals with people who could kill me. He'd seen too much of that and so had I.

"Once I get a couple cuts, I can leave!" I told him.

"It won't happen, Danny," he told me and I took a long breath. This was harder than I thought it would be.

"I can't do this anymore," I told him in a whisper. "I need out."

"Why can't you ask your other brother for money then? I'm sure he'd help you out of Tulsa."

I let out a little laugh and winced as it made my muscles ache. "You think they give a hang about me?"

"I was under that impression, yes."

"Then why do I keep getting beat? Why am I here instead of with him and Dad? It would be an easy bribe," I told him. "They told me to stay. They don't want me. And I don't want them, either."

Part of that was the truth, but the whole thing hurt to say. I met Calligher's eyes and they were full of pity. I closed my eyes.

"Please. I can do this. One month and I'd be free."

"Danny…"

"I don't want to die."

That's when Calligher stood up and left the room. Either I'd pushed too hard or just enough. I didn't get my answer until hours later when I was sleeping again. Tim cleared his throat loudly and I blinked at him, wondering how long he'd been sitting by the cot.

"Jake may be a push over, but I'm not," he started off, sharp and right to the point. "You want to run drugs for me. Why?"

"I need to get out of here."

"So go north and beg off them."

"They abandoned me a long time ago," I told him, adding bitterness to my voice.

Tim leaned back in his chair, frowning at me. When I was first placed with Pop, I'd gone on and on about Chet and what a great brother he was and how I was going to go to him and live up north with the rest of the Kings. Tim had always told me to just do it then. I think he was sick of hearing about Chet fairly quickly. The longer I was there, the less I talked about anything, but I was always quick to tell him how great Chet was. It was easy to assume that after so long I was disillusioned.

"Facing facts finally, huh, Blake?" he taunted.

"Shut up," I growled at him and he smirked.

"You remember what I asked you the last time you told me no?"

"Yeah."

Tim had asked me if I could sell in the North. I knew I could, I just didn't want to. Like I said, Chet kept me on a tight leash when it came to drugs.

"You think you can do it?" he asked. "It's been a long time since you were up there."

"I still know people." I nodded. "It won't take much if your prices are right. Chet charges dealer fees, so the dealers charge more for the product. They'd pay for a competitive product without a fee."

Tim seemed to be mulling it over. He finally looked at me and I kept his gaze.

"You fuck this up and I'll just let you bleed to death next time," he told me and I nodded. "And if you get me in trouble with that brother of yours, I'll make sure you don't eat another meal without a straw."

I nodded again. Chet would pull me out before it got that far.

"Now, about these north side buyers – "

"I need to make a few calls. I can have you a list by…what day is it?"

Tim sent me a long look. "Take your time. When you can move to the phone, you can start."

I nodded, feeling my eyes droop. I was finally getting somewhere with this damned assignment. And all it took was a lot of blood and a lot of pain. I'd have to remember that the next time I went to get myself in the middle of Chet and Tim's business again.

* * *

Yet again, still working on the next chapter! Hopefully that will be up soon and I can get off Zickahik's sad chapter list!

Any comments at all are welcome and flames accepted!

Tens & Zickachik


	7. It's a Start

Hey everyone. I know, kind of dropped off the face of the planet over the summer, but hey. It usually happens that way. Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter and those who enquired as to when I was going to get off my butt and get on this - sometimes everyone needs a kick. And, as always, to Zickachik who is so my hero for getting to this around her own crazy life.

Disclaimer: The usual.

On with the show...

Chapter 7

"So, Mickey Flannigan is dead?"

"No, he's serving five to ten," Switch replied. "I thought you knew that."

I sighed and shifted my grip on the phone, scratching his name off the pad of paper Calligher had given me when I had finally felt alright enough to move around. I'd been laid up for two days and it was time to get moving again, albeit slowly. A phone call to Switch was a start there.

"No. Chet never liked him. How about Don Edgars?"

"Now that son of a bitch is still hanging around," Switch sighed. "I recommend you avoid him, kid. He'll eat you alive."

"He used to give me candy when he came to talk business. I couldn't have been more than four years old."

"That was when you were cute. Now you're definitely not cute and almost old enough to get in on Chet's gang."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. He never knew me when I was a kid. I could have looked like a little goblin and he wouldn't have known shit all about it. Luckily, I was more than cute when I was a kid – I was adorable. And Chet used it, too. If the people he was doing business with were at ease enough to give me candy, he knew how to really work them. Sadly, that was a good memory.

"So…no candy?"

"Quit being a smart mouth. I'm surprised you've made it this far with every other word since I met you being sass."

"I've heard that one before," I brushed him off. "So Fontanne, Walsh, Edgars, and Cobb are all possible people to deal with. That's pretty much all I need in Chet's territory. What about across the river?"

"Don't you even think of spreading this into Tiger territory. You think Edgars will rip you apart? They'll mail you back to Chet in a shoe box."

"Alright. At least it's a start, Switch."

"More than enough of a start. When do they want you to make contact with everyone?"

"When I'm up to it."

I hadn't bothered to keep it from Switch that my Pop beat me good this time. He'd noticed I was quiet, which led to explaining the ribs. I wasn't even sure I could trust him not to tell Chet, so I hadn't bothered asking. My brother was pretty tenacious when he wanted to know something as it was. One way or another, he was going to know whatever Switch did.

"If you need out, kid…"

"Thanks," I sighed. "Three and a half more months."

"I'm surprised you don't have the hours counting down," Switch sighed back.

"C'mon, Switch. You know I can't do math for the life of me."

"So, how do you plan to deal?"

I tensed a little at the voice and offered the slightest of shrugs. Any movement of my back pulled the skin tight around the stitches and it hurt. Dull ache was my constant level of pain when I was still, so I didn't do a lot of moving. Maybe I should have just said something, but it was kind of rude to talk to Tim when I was on the phone with Switch, after all.

"Thanks for the info. I'll pay you for it on Friday," I said evenly.

Switch snorted. We'd agreed that he would be my contact up north, supposedly feeding me information Chet didn't know about in case Tim got curious. The front was that I was paying him for the information, but I wasn't about to give him shit. I never paid my babysitters – that was Chet's job.

"Yeah, like that'll ever happen. Take care of yourself, kid."

"You too, Switch."

I set the phone down and shifted as little as possible so I was looking at Tim out of the corner of my eye while I finished making notes from the conversation beside the list of names. If he wanted more than that, he could come over to where I was.

"I can manage dealing," I told him. "I even have a few buyers lined up."

"Good."

Tim circled the room until he was standing in front of me. The window was behind him and I squinted to make out anything more than Tim's outline. It was another one of Tim's tricks to show he was the boss and I was the lackey. I was tempted to tell him to give it a rest already. He was my stepbrother before he was my boss, and he was only my boss because Chet said so. So, long story short, Chet was in control of everything and Tim was still small time.

"I'm thinking next week or something, I'll start in on them," I offered. "By the time they're ready to deal, I won't look like a close relative to Frankenstein's monster."

Tim gave me a long look that told me the reference to Mary Shelly was lost on him. If it hadn't been for a teacher threatening to flunk me unless I read the book, I wouldn't have known the reference, either. In the end, it was a waste of time since I dropped out anyways, but you have to give Mr. Syme some props for trying.

"Or you could call them now, so that when 'next week or something' comes around, we'll be handling business and not arranging things still," Tim suggested and I raised an eyebrow at him.

"They won't like doing business with me if I can't even move," I pointed out. Image was everything with these people. "If they think I can't handle myself, they won't let me handle their business."

"Who said anything about you going?" Tim challenged and I resisted the urge to chuckle.

"Tim, they've heard of you. They know what you're all about and they obviously don't want to do business with you."

Tim's glare sharpened, but he knew it was the truth as well as I did. If he didn't need me, he wouldn't even be entertaining this whole situation.

"Your job is to make it so they will do business with me," Tim countered.

"No. My job is to get them to do business with me. You supply the product and you get a cut. I wouldn't complain since it's much bigger than the one I can expect."

"You're not helping your case any, Blake. I should just take your notes and go my own way."

"Good luck," I offered with a shrug, biting back a wince. I had to stop forgetting about those stitches.

Tim knew just as well as I did that I was the only ticket he had to the King's territory. The buyers either dealt with Chet or went across the river for whatever the Tigers could sell them. This was mostly because they knew the two dealers well. Druggies didn't like change because you never knew who could be the fuzz looking to make a bust. Not that they'd ever think Tim would work for the fuzz with his record. His record was the problem, though. He was ten times more likely to be in trouble than Chet and buyers didn't need their suppliers in jail, or worse, leaving a trail right back to them. Me, I was just Chet's kid brother. They'd think he was finally making me earn my place in the gang. And with Chet in on it, it wouldn't be hard to convince them that was the case.

"When you do start talking with these guys, I'll need amounts," Tim continued like he was still the boss and I shrugged.

"You set the prices lower than Chet and they'll be curious. As for product, I wouldn't stock up. These guys are going to be slow on the draw as it is."

I wasn't kidding when I said these guys didn't like change. They'd try out the product, slowly building up their orders. It could take months to get to where Tim was hoping.

Tim let out a long breath, probably wondering if it was really worth it. I hoped that he would just forget the whole thing. Chet wouldn't be in trouble then and I really could head up north. But I knew Tim too well. A moment later, the look passed and he was determined again.

"I have to get going. You want anything?"

I shook my head. Either Tim or Calligher had been bringing me meals or things to do for so long I was starting to feel like an invalid. I could do things for myself. I even wanted to go back to work as soon as possible. Mostly, I wanted out of this clubhouse and back into the thick of things. I had far too much time to think with so little to do here. That was probably why I never did bother to think before I charged into things.

Speaking of charging, before Tim could even open the door, it flew open and a finger was jabbed into his chest by none other than Lily Dawson. And boy, did she look mad.

"Alright, buddy. If you tell me to leave, I swear you'll be singing soprano for a week," she assured him and Tim glared at her.

"What the hell are you doing banging open doors in my place?" He demanded. "And who the hell are you?"

Calligher was standing behind her, looking apologetic, but I noticed he wasn't trying to manhandle her. You had to hand it to Jake – he sure treated women well. Comes from having a mom and sister to take care of on top of multiple female cousins.

"She's demanded to see Blake. Won't take 'no' for an answer," Calligher explained.

"Of course not!" Lily snapped at him, still staring Tim down. "You kidnap him –"

"Let's get one thing straight. I do not kidnap people. You go shouting that and I may make an exception."

Tim wasn't backing down an inch. I knew Tim wouldn't hit her. He'd seen too much of that from my father and his own father to last a lifetime. But he wasn't as nice as Jake when it came to manhandling them. Lily was sure tempting him, though.

"Lil," I called, earning her attention. "I haven't been kidnapped."

"My stars." She pushed past Tim and came straight over to where I was sitting beside the phone still. "What did he do to you?"

Tim glared at her and stalked out of the room. I opened my mouth to tell her what happened, but she gave me a look that caused me to stop before I even started. She knew exactly what had happened because it had happened a thousand times before. And every time, she gave me the same pity look.

"I keep telling you. Every time you come to work all black and blue," she paused, softening as she studied the bruises on my face. "Why do you put yourself through this?"

I blinked. It wasn't like I walked up to my Pop and asked to be beaten. But I knew what she meant. I should have run away from the situation a long time ago. My mother had family in California, Chet had family in Virginia, and I was willing to bet there would have been space for me somewhere. But it wouldn't have been in Tulsa and that just wasn't an option when I was growing up. Now, I was too old to be shoved off on family. I needed to figure out this mess and carve out my own space in the world or I wasn't going to be long for it.

"So, you come to rescue me or something?" I asked, changing the subject with a smirk. "'Cause usually the chick is the damsel in distress."

"Funny," Lily replied, not looking amused. "You don't come into work for three days, you're not at home, no one I run into knows where you are, and you think I plan to rescue you?"

I shrugged. She had a point – I'd be ready to throttle me if I were her, injured or not.

"How did you find out where I was?" I asked and she rolled her eyes.

"Curly. He came by looking for a free lunch."

"And he folded?" I asked.

"Like a cheap suit." Lily nodded.

I grinned, ignoring how sore my face still was when I did that. "Sounds like Curly."

As tough as the little punk was, Curly couldn't hit a girl either. He talked tough with the boys all the time and even managed to make the girls blush with his dirty mouth, but he never hit a chick as far as I knew. In fact, most females walked all over him, completely controlling the relationship if it got past a one-night stand. The only girl he ever told off was Angela. So it would have surprised me if Lily had gotten nowhere with Curly.

"And for the record, if you ever just disappear of the face of the earth like that again…" Lily threatened, not bothering to elaborate, and I nodded. "Well, now that we have that settled, my dad wants to know if you ever plan to come and pick up your pay. I think he misses you. He was muttering back to his own comments yesterday to fill the void."

I smirked. Yeah, it was nice to be missed. "You should be picking up the slack there, Lil."

"Are you kidding? I have to live with my dad," she snorted, obviously not bothered by that at all.

"Me too," I replied.

I glanced down at the counter then. Lil had nothing nice to say about that, so she didn't say anything at all.

It was a few hours later before she left and I was sitting at the bar with Jake Calligher going over numbers while the gang 'kept it down' in the background. It was all happening and it was happening quicker than I thought. If I was lucky, it would all be over before I even knew it. Knowing my luck, that wasn't going to happen. But as I sat there, feeling every stitch in my back like a written reminder of what was waiting for me at home, I was more than willing to go along with this crazy plan. Chet owed me one. I'd said it before, but this time, he really owed me.

* * *

Ok, there you have my sorry excuse for a filler chapter. Coming up are the more central plot chapters. I even have the next one on the go. How's that for being more-ish on the ball! Oh! And I am officially boycotting Microsoft Word 2007. Piece of shit, I'm telling you. I make more formatting edits on here than ever. Damn thing...

Any comments at all are welcome and Flames accepted.

See ya in the funny papers!!

Tens & Zickachik


	8. Fontanne

Well, this is a post! I know, it's been so long since you've seen one from me that I just wanted to make sure you hadn't forgotten. Special thanks on this one go out to Alive At Last for her wonderful beta job on this chapter!

Disclaimer: The usual.

Ch 8

It was cold out. I wasn't a big fan of the chilly weather. It meant that there was a change in the air and fall was finally here. Soon, there would be snow and I would be going through another year in one of Mr. Dawson's old coats again, freezing with the thin material pulled tightly around my shoulders as I trudged to and from work. Hopefully this year, things would be different.

I took a long drag on my cigarette and looked around the front of the clubhouse, studying the beat up cars parked out there. Tim was the only one with a decent car. He'd won the pink slip after beating up a fellow poker player trying to leave town with just an IOU in Tim's hands. It was a suped up Charger that was at least six years old. Tim took care of it, though. Calligher's car wasn't so nice. The old Ford was probably his father's or something. It looked like it was going to fall apart if a strong wind passed through. So naturally that was the car we were taking to the north side. And naturally, no matter how horrible a condition the car was in, I couldn't smoke in it.

I let the breath of smoke escape my lips and shook my head. Figures. That was my life these days. I couldn't smoke in the clubhouse. I couldn't smoke in the car. It was getting to the point where it would be easier to just quit so that I wouldn't have the temptation of the sticks burning a hole in my pocket.

"You done yet?" Calligher asked, stepping out of the clubhouse, shoulders hunched against the cold wind.

"Yeah," I replied, letting the end of my cigarette slip to the pavement so I could step on it. "More than done."

Calligher nodded me towards the car and I followed, my stride having gained some rhythm since the stitches didn't pull anymore. The skin was still stiff and tight, but it no longer hurt. I was sure the stitches could be cut out in a few more days, relieving the pulling sensation finally would be nice. The bruises had faded some, too, making it look like I'd been in a fistfight last week instead of having my back sliced to ribbons. I had no illusions that the skin would scar. I was probably pretty lucky I couldn't see it.

Tim was already behind the wheel when I gingerly eased into the back seat. His gaze flicked back at me, the same lack of faith he had voiced earlier rang through loud and clear in that look. I ignored it in favour of trying to concentrate on where I was still warm. I think there was a space right around my gut that still remembered what warmth was.

Tim huffed into the cold air before starting the car and twisting harshly on the wheel as he pulled out of the space. Calligher looked like he wanted to take the wheel and barely refrained himself from doing just that. Tim was ignoring him, so I figured that this was something that happened a lot. Tim got his driving skills from his father. I remembered hearing stories about him getting pulled over all time for reckless driving just to hear Tim, Angela, and Curly all laugh in the back seat. No wonder they loved fast driving and anything reckless. Pop only got pulled over when he was drunk and Dad had a spotless driving record, so reckless driving made me a little nervous unless I was the one behind the wheel. Even then, it was pretty tame driving in comparison.

Tim drove the car like a moron until we hit the bridge. It was almost like he was trying to be inconspicuous or something crossing it at a humanly pace. I leaned my forehead against the window, watching the river and feeling completely at ease as we hit my side of town. In turn, Calligher and Tim both looked tight as bow strings.

"I don't know where I'm going, Blake," Tim pointed out needlessly and I nodded.

"Don't worry – I do. Take your first left."

The alley Fontanne wanted to meet in was well known as a meet spot. But if you weren't from this side of town, it probably meant as much to you as Timbuktu or something. Tim followed my directions and pulled over where I told him to. The street was barely lit by street lights and all the shops were closed for the night. It looked particularly seedy and I loved it, even if I didn't want anything to do with it.

"Are you sure we're in the right place? It looks like no one comes here unless they have to," Calligher pointed out and I nodded.

"Exactly."

"Where's this guy then?" Tim asked, obviously agitated by the lack of control he had over the situation.

"Fontanne? He'll be late," I replied, rubbing my hands together for some warmth. "He's always been like that. Used to piss off Chet something awful –"

"Shut up. No one wants to hear about memory lane," Tim growled and I did shut up about Chet, but not about Fontanne.

"Fontanne will have a couple guys with him, but he likes to do the out numbering. So it'll be just Jake and me."

"Beg pardon?" Calligher asked, turning in his seat so he could look at me like I was a moron. "When did we agree on this?"

"When you got into the car," I replied. "They don't like Tim to the point that they won't do business with him, unless it's through me, and I highly doubt you want me going alone."

So who else in the car was going to come with me? Moron, honestly. It still took a bit of convincing to get Calligher out of the car. That was Tim's accomplishment, though. One snapped statement about booting Calligher out and leaving him on the north side if he didn't get his shit together seemed to be all the prompting that Calligher needed.

So here Calligher and I were standing in an abandoned alley with only a lone street light at one end to see by. It cast us into shadow and made the whole situation that much more mysterious. It didn't help that we could see our breath, too. I shook my head, thinking that this was like the setting for a bad movie. I'd seen this film where the dumb drug dealers who were standing in the alley freezing their nuts off usually ended up screwed over in the end. I knew that was how it was going to go down eventually, seeing as how I had agreed to help Chet do just that, but why he couldn't have bothered me about this in July was still beyond me. All in all, I'd rather be sitting in the car with Tim pouting than feeling the small shivers run up and down my arms and legs. But all the while I was shivering; I was calm, cool and composed. I'd never felt more like a hood than I did right then.

I figured that was what Fontanne wanted. Why else would he have us stand outside in the alley like someone's bad secret? That way when he finally showed up, it would look like he was the one who was lowering himself to our level. I knew it was total bullshit, and so did Calligher, but the fact was we were still waiting outside in the cool weather for Fontanne to make his appearance. I wanted to scoff at the whole situation. Chet would never conduct business in an alley. He would have conducted it in his office or on the river, if he had to take it somewhere else. An alley just screamed bad company and the fuzz were always on the lookout for shit like that. What was worse was that the fuzz could block the alley and come from either way, forcing us to flee into them no matter which way we picked to run, making the whole situation risky. That was another test. Fontanne wanted to know how committed I was. He also wanted to know if I was in with the fuzz or if the fuzz were following me. The answer was neither, but you couldn't blame a guy for being cautious.

I just hoped this wasn't how all of Tim's business went down. If so, it wouldn't surprise me that he was beginning to get on Chet's last nerve.

Fontanne was getting on my last nerve by the time he finally pulled up. He sauntered into the alley with two of his guys on his tail and looked like he owned the shithole. Yeah, same old Fontanne. Calligher had tightened up even further and I was sure he was going to pull a muscle at this rate. Now that we were actually getting around to it, I felt a new pulse of energy run through me. Adrenaline was pumping. I wasn't scared, though. Wary was the word for it.

"Well, well. Baby Cameron all grown up," Fontanne greeted, literally leering in my face.

Fontanne was older than Chet, probably in his forties. Where I still looked like a kid, Fontanne looked like an old man before his time. Everyone I knew through Chet seemed to be getting old, though. Maybe I shouldn't have been so surprised. Fontanne was trying to look younger, though. He had dark hair and it was always slicked back, matching his personality perfectly. He dressed like a Greaser in leather and jeans, not at all like any grown up I knew. He also had no problem with getting in my personal space. He was close enough to see every one of the fading bruises on my face and it caused him to smirk.

"Chet's letting you fight your own battles, I see."

"Part of growing up," I excused. "He can't hold my hand forever."

"About time. You gotta be what, fifteen by now?"

"Something like that," I agreed, knowing he wouldn't believe me if I told him I was seventeen. No one ever did.

"Who's the stiff?" Fontanne asked, gesturing at Calligher.

"My associate, Jake Calligher," I introduced.

"Associate," Fontanne tried the word out for himself. "I like it. Me and my _associates_ here are looking to do some business. So let's see this product of yours."

I nodded Calligher forward. He had the bag on him since Tim didn't trust me with it. I used to be severely addicted to cocaine. I was addicted to everything under the sun before I hit a bad patch and Chet made me quit months ago. I still liked a good hit when I could get one, but my tolerance was shit these days. That didn't matter. This meant too much to me to go screwing it up by snorting up the product. But the stuff Tim was hocking was pretty good from what I had been told.

Fontanne moved closer, taking the bag and holding it up so what little light shone on the bag. He opened it, smelled it, tasted it and passed it over to one of his cronies. The look of scrutiny on his face made it looked like he was not impressed, but I could tell he liked it. It was something else about the situation that was getting to him.

"I don't get it kid, you have a good product, but you want to sell in Chet's territory. You're going against your own brother?"

"He told me I could do whatever I wanted with my life and he wouldn't try to stop me," I replied. "He won't come down on me, but if he does, that's my problem and not yours. All you have to do is find a new dealer. So are you in or out?"

Fontanne looked me over for a moment before nodding. "I want you to handle this personally, not through your associates. I don't trust that Shepard kid to keep the fuzz on his side of the river."

I nodded. Don't bring trouble into someone else's house. And Tim was trouble.

"Now, this kid I like. He don't say much," Fontanne gestured at Calligher.

"You intimidate him. Usually, he never shuts up," I replied with as much of as shrug as I could manage.

Jake gave me an annoyed glare and I popped out a cigarette from my pack in lieu of acknowledging him.

"Ballsy, Cameron. How soon can you set me up with five?"

"Tomorrow. Name the time and the place."

"I like the way you do business. Cheap product, speedy expedition, and hand delivery. Your brother could learn a thing or two," Fontanne praised, offering his hand.

I accepted his offered hand and shook it. He had a grip like a bear.

"Bring it by my place Friday night. It's poker night, so be prepared to part with your fee." Fontanne smirked. "Bring your friend here, too."

"Alright," I agreed for Jake before he could protest.

"And you watch yourself, Baby Cameron. I'd hate to see this end before it gets started."

Fontanne and his cronies turned towards one end of the alley, making their way back out onto the street where their car was waiting. Calligher and I didn't move until we heard the car take off down the street. I took a long drag on my cigarette before turning back towards where we had left Tim. Calligher was practically rushing back to the car, but I kept on ambling. The fastest way to get attention around here was to look like something was under your skin.

"I suggest we drive and discuss," Calligher suggested before Tim could speak.

"No one will bother us if we just sit here," I sighed, but as usual I was ignored.

Tim started up the car and headed back the way we came. I longingly watched the scenery, picking out what every building was. Nothing had changed. I would have liked to have just sat and soaked it up, but obviously Tim and Calligher were still on edge.

"So?" Tim finally asked when we had a few blocks between us and them.

"Friday. Five packs," Calligher supplied.

Tim sent me a dirty look and I sighed, expecting that.

"Don't worry. He'll be ordering more."

Seeing as how Fontanne could move that much in a night, I knew he would be in for more if his Friday night regulars liked the product. Jake and I would probably be back Saturday with triple that. Tim should have known how that worked. He was one of those people who knew the score on how things could move in the right hands.

"He seemed to be interested," Calligher sighed. "He even went as far as to invite Danny and I to participate in the poker game going on Friday night."

"Really?" Tim asked, looking skeptical.

"Oh, he liked Calligher," I threw in with a smirk. "Probably wants to see if he can completely unnerve him."

"Unnerve me?" Calligher asked, seeming affronted.

"You're from a south side gang and you gave off a nervous vibe. You practically invited him to torment you."

Calligher sent me a dirty look and Tim didn't comment. I could tell that they were thinking the whole trip was just disastrous with only a five kilo deal. I had thought it went much better than it should have.

"I don't expect you to come with me to any other meetings," I said when it seemed no one else was going to say anything.

"You're not going on your own," Tim stated.

"It'll just get worse from here," I told him. "Fontanne was a kitten in comparison to some of the other guys I plan to deal with."

"We can handle it," Tim growled and I wanted to roll my eyes.

"They don't like you to the point that they won't even deal with you, and Calligher is already a weak point. Who else do you recommend I tug along?" I asked, earning silence from both of them. "Besides, there are a few I except will try to eat me alive and I don't need to be watching Calligher's back, too."

If Tim were a good older brother to me, he would have asked me to stop right then and there, before I got in too deep. He wasn't a good older brother to me, though.

"Fine. But you screw things up and I'll help your dad kill you. Get me?"

I nodded. I suppose this was progress in our twisted relationship. He'd gone from threatening to just harm me to flat out killing me. I could live with that.

There was nothing else to be said then. We were quiet all the way home. It was ten o'clock before we pulled up outside the house. Tim and I hopped out, leaving Calligher to get himself home. I heard him take off before Tim and I were even inside the house.

The TV was blaring when we walked in and I could see Pop clear as day from where he was sitting in front of it with a beer in hand. I suppose he must have broken down and bought a new one since I made myself scarce. It didn't surprise me all that much. The TV kept the peace at Chez Shepard better than any cop's warning ever could. Still, it wasn't enough to distract Pop from the way Tim let the door slam shut. He glared at the pair of us, a long look settling on me. He almost looked confused to see me before the look turned into something much more dangerous, like he figured I was healthy enough to hit again – and he was looking forward to the possibility. I stiffened and felt my stomach go queasy at the look. Then I started trembling slightly, unable to move under that look. Yeah, no one could put the fear of God into me like my pop could.

"You and this idiot paling around now, boy?" Pop asked and Tim gave him a look that suggested Pop was about as significant to Tim as the stuff he picked off the bottom of his shoes.

"Go to hell, Blake," Tim suggested, turning his attention from Pop to me. "Upstairs – now."

Tim pushed the back of my neck and I started up the stairs, carefully stepping around everything that had collected there. Tonight there were beer bottles, a high heeled shoe, two dirty plates, and what looked to be a half-eaten loaf of bread. I figured Curly and Angela had evacuated the kitchen or something which meant Pop and Evelina were fighting again. Figured.

"You stay the hell away from him, boy," Pop ordered. "Or I'll make that last beating look like a love tap. It's bad enough that you pal around with that younger one."

Pop looked dead serious and Tim pushed me up the last few stairs. I was tempted to drop Tim right there if it meant keeping my pop away. But I knew that Pop always found something to warrant a beating, so there was no reason to give in easily.

Tim finally let me stop moving when we got to my bedroom door. I only paused long enough to shove my door as open as it would go so I could slip into the room. I looked back through the gap in the door at Tim, figuring he was too big to even think about following me. Sometimes, you had to appreciate what you had, and this was one of them.

"Tomorrow, I want you to get on that next buyer," Tim instructed.

"Sure thing, Boss," I replied, sarcasm weak but still there.

Tim only glared, tugging the door closed behind him with a firm snap. I didn't bother taking off my jacket or my shoes. I just sunk into the lumpy mattress and closed my eyes. I always felt safe in my broom closet of a room. If Tim couldn't get in, then it was a fair bet Pop couldn't, either. And seeing as how he had never come into my room, it was sound logic.

In my head, I ran over everything that had happened tonight, and everything that would have to happen, and soon. I was in over my head, but I had to keep going. Already I was in too deep to do anything else and the lack of freedom had my stomach doing flips over this new fear. By the end of all this, I was going to be a nervous wreck.

"God, Chet," I whispered to the room. "I hope you appreciate all this."

* * *

Well, another chapter down and a good many left to go!

Any comments at all are welcome, and flames are accepted.

See ya in the funny papers!!!

Tens


	9. Edgars

Another chapter recently beta'd by the lovely Aerodynamics. So special thanks there. Also special thanks to Alive At Last for loaning Will to me. Check out my favorites and you can find the all new combined Danny and Will story "Changes". I think it'll be a fun project.

Disclaimer: The usual.

CH 9

It was three days later when I had the next meeting set up. This time it was with Don Edgars, and instead of Calligher, Switchblade Sam was the one who was coming with me. Tim hadn't been impressed when I told him that I was bringing a friend from the north side along with me on this one, but Sam was even less impressed. I could tell he was still mad about it when he swung by my house that morning and picked me up with only a muttered grunt. Since then, he had been quiet, so I was kind of surprised when he started muttering to himself once we got back onto our side of the river.

"Edgars is going to eat you alive," Sam muttered, looking out the window as he hunched over the steering wheel.

"Stay in the truck then," I suggested, slouched against the passenger side door and not all that interested in conversation.

"I was talking about you, wise ass," Sam replied, clearly more worried about all this than I was.

"Relax, Sammy. He won't kill me this visit," I assured him, waving a hand to dismiss his cares.

"Somehow, your words don't reassure me, Kid," Sam muttered, gripping the steering wheel and watching the road carefully.

I sighed to myself. It was too bad Riggs wasn't in on this little scheme; I could have used a ride that was used to the stupid things I managed to get wrapped up in. Riggs was a good guy. Overall, he had been my favourite of all the babysitters Chet had found over the years. Then he'd taken a bullet to the leg and gotten in deeper with Chet, rising to his second in command in less than a couple years. Like I said, nothing shook that guy, and it made him good at what he did. Sammy, though he wouldn't show it once we were out of the truck, was shaken up by this. He knew the risks, and he knew that I was going to get into trouble with this little venture. But at least he was still in the truck with me.

"When we go in, there will be no wise cracks. There will be no side comments, no shifty looks, no staring and no jokes," Sam instructed.

"I know, Sam," I sighed. "After three times, I think I got it."

"Do you? He literally chopped up Jesse Delaney for screwing around with him," Switch told me, "and he was bigger than you," he added.

"Yes, and there was a boogie man in my closet." I shook my head in distaste.

Rumours flew like mad up north. Jesse was probably lying on some beach with his girl or something, not chopped up into tiny pieces in the Edgars' basement. However, if it were true, it couldn't have happened to a nicer guy. He was a creep, and Chet had beaten the hell out of him on more than one occasion. The guy had a habit of looking at me like I was something good to eat and he was starving. I was maybe eight at the time. To this day, I didn't know if he wanted to chop me up into little piece or if he swung that way. It would have been ironic if he was the one who ended up in a shoe box.

But aside from being slimy as a river bottom rock, Jesse also didn't have Chet's backing. Chet kept a lot of bad things from happening to me as a kid just because of his reputation. Pop was about the only person in town his reputation had no affect on. Pop figured the law was on his side and that the fuzz were looking for any reason they could find to put Chet away. So he was safe from Chet as long as Chet was still a person of interest on the north side. Some days I did wish Chet would forget about the police and go cut Pop up into tiny pieces or at least break a couple of his bones bad enough so he couldn't touch me for a while. I shifted in the seat, feeling the tenderness of the freshly removed stitches and knew today was one of those days.

When Sammy finally pulled over, he spent a whole minute glaring at Edgars' club house. I didn't bother asking why. I just waited until Sam slammed the door and climbed out of the truck to follow his lead. We walked in cautiously, guests after all. It didn't pay to act like you owned the place unless you could get away with it. The only place I could get away with that was at Chet's place, and there it was more unconscious than anything. Chet thought that was alright, good training even for later in life. Me? Well, I was smart enough to know that if that was my usual attitude, I'd have been dead years ago. I'd never admit it, but Pop actually was good for my ego. A beating every time you turned around did wonders for keeping less appealing personality traits in check.

Edgars' place wasn't the nicest, but it wasn't a cesspool, either. You could tell he put just enough money into the place to achieve that balance. The guys hanging around all looked casual, but they were expecting us. We waited just inside the door, again not taking any liberties when this wasn't our space. Edgars was like every other guy in the business. That meant he had an office and we would have to wait for him. But I had to admit that his office wasn't very impressive once we were finally shown in. Chet's was full of nice stuff because he liked nice things. Edgars' looked bigger because he had a lot less stuff, and what he had wasn't great quality. But he didn't really use the space effectively. I would have had the desk back lighted from the window for intimidation purposes. Edgars had it in the shadows, like he didn't like anyone seeing him. It would have suggested to me that he was either ugly or shy if I didn't know otherwise.

Edgars was behind his desk when we came in, watching Sammy and me like we were something he didn't see every day. I imagined he was noting everything about me that had changed since I was the five year old kid Chet used to haul around with him. And I wasn't all that sure he had ever met Sammy, so it was good to size him up. But like I said, that was my best guess. I didn't know what he was looking for. Maybe he was trying to pick out a good spot for the bullet that he planned on using when I fucked up.

"Well, look at you all grown up. And the spittin' image of Chet Cameron when he was your age. Fontanne mentioned it, but I didn't believe him. Seems I lost a bet."

I could see that happening. There was no blood between Chet and I, but we did look alike. I guess it was the same thing that happened when you owned a pet for a while – you began to look alike because of association or something. I said as much, and Edgars grinned while Sammy was throwing off vibes that were non-verbal groans. He'd warned me not to be funny. He didn't say anything about being honest.

"That make you Chet's dog, then?" Edgars asked and I shrugged.

"Aren't we all," I offered, knowing how true that was. "Switch here heels so well that he only needs a collar."

Switch gave me a dirty look, which I ignored. He could kick my ass later.

"Ah, see, now I remember why I liked you. You're funny, kid," Edgars chuckled a little, even though it wasn't all that funny.

I nodded. I'd always been a smart mouth, and I wasn't sure that was an admirable trait, but funny? I was pretty sure I was the only person alive who thought so.

"So, you're dealing grass and snow on your own now," Edgars stated. "Chet know about this?"

I nodded. "Is there anything Chet doesn't know?"

"That may be so, kid, but I'm more concerned with whether he's going to show up here and start making a fuss over buying from you. If it's one thing I don't need, it's grief from Chet Cameron."

"If Chet disapproved, I wouldn't have made it to your doorstep. He told me to go my own way, and this is it."

It was the truth. If Chet's back wasn't up against the wall with this whole Tim situation, then he would have shut this all down before I even heard that he was having trouble with Tim. If I were really going out on my own, Chet would have probably cut off all the people who could have supplied me and forced me under his thumb to keep me out of it. Like I said, if Chet really disapproved, I wouldn't have made it this far.

Edgars smirked. "Pull up a chair, kid."

I sat, pulling out the packet of product I was pushing. Edgars picked it up off his desk and studied it for a moment. He finally tasted it, clicking his tongue twice and nodding. He didn't play games like Fontanne. It was harder to read him because of it, which he proved when he glanced over at me with a calculating look.

"Tell me, kid. You still an addict?"

And that was one of the worst kept secrets on the north side. It was funny to all these guys that Chet couldn't keep me in check around the drugs. Well, Chet finally got tired of being laughed at back in May. He'd practically kidnapped me over from the east side, sat me down, and forced me to go cold turkey for a week. I hadn't had more than the stray hit since, and I did feel better for it, but I liked life better when I was addicted and so out of it that I didn't feel how bad everything hurt all the time. Let's just say life hadn't been peachy since May.

"Not so much anymore," I replied honestly. "Doesn't work out too well for you in this business."

"Try it," Edgars suggested, but I could tell it was an order. Yeah, he was going to eat me alive one of these days.

I sighed, taking a finger's worth and tasted it. Edgars gave me a dark look and I knew he wanted me to snort it. I closed my eyes and did just that. The effects were almost instantaneous, and I was feeling both relaxed and wired after only a couple heart beats to get the drug circulating. I practically melted into the cheap leather of the chair I was sitting on and smiled at Edgars.

"I'll take twice what I ordered," Edgars said with a smirk.

"Good," I replied with a nod, watching the world sway.

Man, I was going to be flying if I got any higher. The rest of the meeting went smoothly—at least I thought so—and finally we were dismissed. I let Sammy lead me back to the truck where I could tweak in peace. He floored it when we were both inside, heading for the bridge. See, even the north side had its east and west parts, and Chet was on the east while Edgars was pretty much straddling the line between east and west. Once we were in our neighbourhood, Sammy drove around aimlessly, trying to give me time to settle down.

"Thanks for comin' with me, Sam," I told him.

"An actual 'thank you.' Shit, you must be high."

"I went cold turkey, man. Every random hit now is like...hyper drive."

"Hyper-what? Never mind. Just try to relax and let it pass."

I nodded. In May, I wouldn't have even felt this. Now, well, you get the picture. It took about four laps of the neighbourhood before my body figured out that I hadn't taken much and the high was passing. And it took Sammy that long to pick up a tail. He was cursing over it, and I finally glanced into the side mirror. We were being followed by a familiar motorcycle.

"Pull over," I ordered.

"And what if this guy is looking for trouble?"

"I know he is," I replied. "And I deserve it, so pull over."

"Alright, your funeral," Sam sighed before pulling the truck over.

The motorcycle slowed and stopped behind us, loud engine cutting out and making the night seem quieter than it probably was. I hopped out of the truck, listening to the crunch of boots on the gravel. I looked up just as I was slammed into the side of the truck. My back connected with the metal painfully, skin still tender from the removal of the stitches. I winced and met the angry eyes of the only person I would claim to be my best friend—William Gordon.

Will was a British immigrant who was basically tugged along to Tulsa by his parents. They thought the new start and a change of scenery would save their marriage. Well, it didn't work, and here Will was stuck for the foreseeable future. I don't think he minded being stuck so much anymore. After I had somehow managed to make him my friend, he had become a River King. Chet thought he was interesting, and I guess anyone who could put up with me would have to be.

It was actually at Chet's last party that I had last seen Will. I knew by now that Will was up on the latest gossip, and clearly he was less than impressed with my new job as Tim's errand boy.

Will was an alright guy. But sometimes he had...anger issues. I was reminded of that as he tried to stare me down right then and there on the side of the road. He had inches on me—if not a foot—and he used it to make me feel both small and out of control. It was a good thing we were friends or I might have been worried about the situation.

"Hi,Will. How's it hangin'?" I asked.

"How do you think it's hanging, Blake?" he asked, shoving me again.

"Gordon," Sammy warned, standing a couple feet away. "Lay off. The kid's busted up enough without you adding to it."

"Still not brave enough to pop him one?" Will asked, looking unsurprised.

I wanted to sigh. Will had beat his father up on more than one occasion. I think he actually dented the man's skull the last time his mother had been bruised up by his father. Me? Hell, I was terror struck by my old man any time he was in hitting distance. Will seemed to think I should get over it and just hit the man. I knew from experience that it wasn't that easy.

"Will –" I tried.

"But you've got the guts to go against your own brother." Will was glaring at me again, not looking impressed. Brothers meant something to him, seeing as how he idolized his older brother. "Word's out, Danny. You're selling for Tim fucking Shepard. What the hell is going on in your head?"

I shrugged a bit—or tried to, seeing as how Will had my shoulders pinned to the truck. So I put on the most pathetic face I could muster and looked at the ground. Will didn't seem to like that answer.

"Not good enough, mate. And stop looking at me like that—I want to stay good and mad at you."

"Fine. I'm tired, Will. I want out," I told him.

"So you're selling. Are you using again?"

I didn't answer—just met his bright blue eyes and watched as he cursed.

"Christ, you're high right now, aren't you?"

"It was just a taste," I defended, really wishing he would get out of my personal space. "You know how these guys are with new dealers."

"That right there should have been your wakeup call as to how stupid you are to sell for Tim. Or have you forgotten how hard Chet and your dad and I worked to get you clean?"

Will let me go then, and I was about one more comment from shoving him off me anyways. He was telling me all this because he was my friend and he was mad. But if he was hoping I would stop just to prove something to him, he didn't know Tim or Chet very well. I couldn't just up and quit on either of them because I would be in worse trouble for it than I would be if I followed this through. I was literally between a rock and a hard place—Tim being the rock and Chet the hard place.

And Will just plain didn't fit into the plan.

"And being clean is so great?" I snapped.

Will looked surprised, and maybe he was. I was a bit of a nut job when I was high, and everyone seemed to like me clean more than when I was high. I guess he just assumed I liked being clean. Well, it was time to pop his bubble.

"I hurt all the god damn time. I'm so hungry most of the day that it's all I can think about. I feel so fuckin' depressed that I've considered jumping off the bridge, ending my life because being clean and abused is _so_ much better than being high and in the same situation."

It had to be the drugs talking. I never opened up like this to anyone, especially those who knew what my home life was like and didn't care.

"Danny..." Now Will looked like he felt bad. Well, he could join my club.

"Just shut up," I warned, my voice tight. "Just. Shut. Up."

Will kept his mouth shut, and I was glad. This whole conversation was killing what self control I had. I probably would have hit him if it would have made a difference. He probably would have taken it, too, if the look on his face was anything to go by.

"You don't live my life, but you and Chet and Dad work your damndest to police it. You wanna know why I am selling for Tim? Because it'll get me out of that damn house. And if I get hauled in for it, at least I have a better chance of making it to my eighteenth birthday in some Juvenile lock up than I would at Chéz Shepard."

"Danny, I didn't know it was getting that bad. If you need money, I'll help you."

I wanted to laugh. That was also Will's way—when you had a problem, he'd steal enough to help you. Normally, it was something I admired about him, but I was on a roll with my rant.

"It's not about the money!" I snapped. "Two weeks ago, I nearly died because my back was tore up so badly. And who the hell was there when I needed help? Tim and fucking Calligher! If that doesn't put things in perspective, I don't know what else does."

I glared at him, actually mad now because nothing I had said was a lie. I didn't ever think of it so negatively, but laying it all out like that was eye opening. I decided to just climb in the truck before I got any madder. Switch and Will exchanged a dark look for a long moment before he came around to his side of the truck again.

"I wish you would have said something, Danny," Will offered. "Good luck."

Switch started the truck when Will made his way back to his bike. We actually followed him as far as the bridge where Will made a wild turn that I was sure was going to crash the bike. But Will was pretty graceful with that thing and continued on without mishap.

Switch and I were quiet for a couple blocks. Naturally, it was him who broke the silence.

"You laid down your cover pretty convincingly, kid. Did you mean what you said?"

"I meant every damn word, Switch."

"Why the hell would Chet just leave you there like that and then ask you to do this?" Switch asked, but I didn't answer. "Listen, if you do need help gettin' out of town –"

"Just shut up and take me home."

Switch actually did keep his mouth shut, even when I slammed the door to his truck when he pulled up outside Chéz Shepard. The TV was blaring so loud that I could hear it from the steps outside. I figured that meant Pop was well entertained and I was safe for another night. The thought made my gut clench. I quickly let myself in the house and hurried up to my room. Even the small space didn't make me feel any better, and I just wanted to go to sleep, knowing I would feel better once the drugs were out of my system again. I refused to admit it was my emotions making me feel this bad. It had to be the drugs. I never thought I would think that way about drugs—about my escape—but there was no denying it.

This high? It was one ragged trip.

* * *

Well, another chapter down. And in case I don't update again before the holidays, Merry Christmas!

Any comments at all are welcome and flames are accepted.

See ya in the funny papers!!!

Tens


	10. Jack Wyatt

Well, after some not-too-gentle shoving, I am updating this! Thanks to everyone who's still with me. By the by, Danny was nominated as the Best OC over at GG&SC awards. Check out the link on my profile and wish our dear Dannyboy luck!

Disclaimer: The usual.

CH10

"That's all? You've got to be fucking kidding me."

I was starting to think Tim was imbalanced. I get him business in the north where he had never had business before, and no matter how much I brought him, he still found it wasn't good enough. But his boys could sell down here and he was practically clicking his heels together. Maybe it was just me. I seemed to have that affect on people.

"Tim, I told you it was going to take time. This isn't the kind of venture that picks up over night."

"I'm starting to think that washing my hands of the north side might just be easier," Tim sighed, rubbing at the knot his brows were making together.

I didn't say anything, figuring if Tim did give it up, it would solve everything. But I knew Tim too well. He just read over my figures and threw the pad of paper on the desk.

"When's your next drop?" Tim asked tiredly.

"Tonight. Jack Wyatt is on his second order," I added, in case he'd forgotten.

"I'm coming."

It was about time that I started letting Tim come with me. It was essential so that I could set him up for the fall. Still, I couldn't afford to look like a push over.

"You want to come?" I asked, forcing myself to sound skeptical.

"Enough with the bullshit you keep feeding me about the north side leaders. They can't all be blood thirsty killers and sadists."

I shrugged. It really depended on who you talked to. I talked up the bad things, making it out that they were too tough to even think about Tim's shit, let alone deal with it.

"This time, I go, or you don't go, and then you'll be out. Get me?" Tim asked and I sighed.

"Ok. I'll bring you on a trial run," I told him.

"Blake," Tim warned.

"Can I go now?"

Mr. Dawnson was going to have my ass as it was. And that was completely truthful.

"Yeah, scram," Tim ordered, waving me off.

Thank you Lord Timothy Shepard, I thought sarcastically. Man, and people thought I was full of myself.

I left Tim to his business and began the long walk to the diner. I should have been there half an hour ago, but Wyatt had me on the phone for forty-five minutes and then Tim wanted to Pow-Wow before he'd let me go anywhere. I was going to be over an hour late by the time I walked in the diner at this rate.

As it was, Lucy was the only one out front when I walked in. I figured Lily was at the stove. She took up for me a lot these days. I hadn't been in much, and when I was here, I hadn't been doing all that much, either. In fact, I spent most of my time expecting Mr. Dawson to fire me. He should have at least three times over this past week alone. But nothing had changed. I was grateful, but at the same time, I knew that it would be easier in the long run if he would just get rid of me. Once I was done getting Tim well and completely screwed over, I was going to get as far away from the south side as possible, and saying goodbye to this place and the people in it was going to be the hardest part.

What? You thought anyone screwed over Tim and stuck around where he could find them? That was just suicidal. No matter how much I may have liked the diner, a job wasn't worth that.

"Why do we even bother having a schedule again?" Lucy greeted.

"Hi Luce," I sighed, walking in.

"You are so late that you missed the boss," Lucy chided and I felt like rolling my eyes at her. "And thank God for that, because he was in one hell of a mood."

"Sounds like any other day, Luce."

"Stop calling me that, Dakota!"

I ignored her, going into the kitchen. As predicted, Lily was behind the stove, wearing my apron and flipping burgers. That apron fit her well, but it did nothing to hide the bruises on her arms.

I felt like sighing. Two weeks ago, Tim was no match for her. But now, she wouldn't even raise a finger about her Soc fiancé who liked to tug her around like a rag doll and slam his fist into her face when he was drunk. We'd all heard the story about the Greaser she planned to marry who died over in Vietnam. It was a damn shame that she was settling because she was afraid of being alone. Hell, alone was better than the abuse.

"Howdy stranger," she greeted cheerfully, like that was going to keep me from noticing what she was hiding. "Want to take over these burgers so I can go and get Kate on a break?"

Ah. I had thought she looked more pissed off with me than usual, and this sure explained it.

"She gets pissy about that shit." I shrugged, going over to the sink to scrub my hands.

"Oh, speaking of people getting pissy, you missed your dad today."

I frowned. Yeah, I would get pissy over that. I liked seeing my dad. I hated it when he came all the way down here to see me and I wasn't even here. But he had already been here this month, so I wondered why he was here so soon.

"Did he say why he was here?" I asked and Lily nodded.

"He said something about you coming home on Sunday."

I nodded. Lily looked confused. I didn't blame her. She knew I was stuck with Pop, so it was odd for Dad to come by and say something like that. But Sunday made five years to the day since my mother had died.

It was always hard the anniversary of the week she died. Pop was easy on me, scarily so. Evelina picked up the pace on torturing me and Pop didn't seem to care at all. Evelina was vicious and I ended up truly hurt. I'd learned to be scarce during those days, usually hiding out at the club house. But by the next week, Pop would be back to normal, and everything would be better.

I laughed to myself. It was a really bad when normal Pop was preferable.

Lily was watching me with a frown, like she wasn't sure what I was going to do next. I just offered her a shrug and turned to the stove.

"Go spell Lucy before she comes in here and kills me," I told her.

Lily sighed, setting the flipper down and untying the apron. It only had to be wrapped around her once, where I had to double the strings. I snatched it away from her and tied it deftly, ignoring the look she sent me.

I was left alone in the kitchen for most of the day, seeing Lily often, and Lucy when she brushed through to go and take a break out back. It didn't bother me. I really wasn't in the mood to annoy her, and that seemed to be the one thing I was good at when it came to Calligher's cousin. And honestly, I wasn't surprised when it was already six and Tim was leaning on the front counter, Calligher at his side.

Yeah, that seemed about right.

I sighed, taking a breath before I took my apron off. Once it was off, I was done being a cook, done being Danny, and back to being Blake – the worst person in the world.

"Don't start that," I chided myself. "Just get through tonight."

I steeled myself and walked out into the diner, letting Tim and Calligher tail me, like I was the goddamned boss for once. As soon as I was outside, I had a cigarette between my teeth, sucking back on the thing sharply. Whatever drug those little sticks put in my system was welcomed as I let the breath of smoke go, automatically pulling on the cigarette again.

"Blake," Tim growled a little.

"He's not expecting me for an hour. I have time for a cigarette," I told him, taking another drag.

"We should grab something to eat, too," Calligher suggested. "My treat?"

I didn't bother replying, knowing full well I wasn't the one being asked. Tim just growled again, clearly less than happy. This was why the guys up north didn't like him – it was only an hour that he had to wait, and already he was probably ready to tell both Calligher and I where to go. He didn't have any patience for this business. Mostly, it was because I had the control here. He was an impatient control freak. But had this all been his plan – his set up – we'd get our heads beaten in if we didn't follow it exactly the way he dictated it. I was sick of double standards with people.

"Come on, a meal would do us all some good," Calligher coaxed.

Calligher could read Tim, too. He was really good at distracting him when he got like this. Already, I could see the cogs in Tim's head moving as he considered it.

"Fine. We'll hit up The Dingo. Give ourselves an alibi on this side of town."

I didn't comment, just followed the pair of them to the car, and then into The Dingo. Tim ordered cokes all around when we sat down, and it was only ten minutes after we sat down that we were all eating burgers and fries. Well, Tim and Calligher were eating, while I was picking. I hadn't expected the meal, so I'd been stealing from the diner all day. Some fries here, a couple pickles there, and even a sandwich when I was sure Lucy was on a long break. Lily never begrudged me anything, but today I hadn't felt like drawing any attention to myself. It was just easier when my head had been on the upcoming meeting all night.

"I'm paying for that, so you better eat it," Tim ordered, even though I expressly remembered Calligher offering to pay.

"Sorry," I offered, even if I didn't feel all that guilty. I'd seen Tim throw out food he'd paid for when he wasn't hungry.

"Just eat it," Tim huffed, shoving the last of his meal into his mouth.

Calligher watched him eat, looking over with a raised eyebrow. "Are you sure you don't want me to come along tonight?"

"Jake," Tim said the name in warning. "We're not talking about this here."

Calligher wasn't too bright about these things, either. If you were establishing an alibi, you didn't discuss other plans while you were doing it. I did want Calligher there, though. He kept Tim from doing dumb things. But this was a small drop, and if Tim lost it, well, it would work to my advantage later.

I just ignored him, finishing my meal. I felt sick after it was down, over full. That was never a good thing when you had to look tough. I'd manage, but it wouldn't surprise me if I ended up throwing up later.

As it was, I was still feeling disgusting when Tim and I finally made it to Jack's place. Now, Jack Wyatt wasn't a gang leader. Jack was a bar owner on the north side. The place was a hub of activity for everything illegal you could imagine. Because of the place's reputation, the fuzz came around often, but Jack had been playing the game far too long to let a couple cops take him out. Clearly, he had the most clout when it came to moving product on the north side, but he was holding out on Tim. He didn't want nor need Tim, but he was smart enough to know that whatever was going down, it was in his best interests to keep an eye on it. Jack had always done what was best for Jack, and he'd still be doing it long after Tim was old news.

Jack and Chet went way back. Jack was older, but he treated Chet like they were equals. A lot of Chet's business made its way through Jack first, so there was no doubt in my mind that whatever Chet's plan was, Jack was in on it. The man was too wise to play games, but he was playing this one.

The bar was already busy when we walked in. Guys played pool, guys sat at tables with liquor in their glasses, there was a live guitarist strumming lazily in the corner, and everyone looked completely relaxed. I knew that if trouble started, even Tim would be able to see how on guard they really were.

Tim, luckily enough, was acting like I was in the lead on this one. He stood to my left, looking around, not moving past me, even though I had stopped in the middle of the floor for no apparent reason. I felt my lip twitch a little. It was fun to see Tim out of his element.

I strolled over to the bar, nodding at the guy standing behind it. He nodded back, setting a beer down in front of Tim and I. I couldn't stomach hard liquor, and I wasn't much of a fan of beer, but I was willing to sit and have a couple sips for show.

Tim sipped his own beer impatiently, tension coiling every one of his muscles. He shifted a lot, clearly irritated with this. No one had ever taught Timothy Shepard patience. When I was halfway through my bottle, I set it down and glanced at Tim out of the corner of my eye.

"Go hit the head. I'll follow you in five minutes."

Tim sent me a look, clearly restraining himself from telling me off. But he did get up, picking up the bag he'd brought in, and made his way to the back. I sat, not bothering to drink anything from my bottle. Five minutes passed, and I shifted from the stool, easily making my way to the back. I thumped on the bathroom door in passing, not bothering to look and see if Tim got the signal. I just kept on for the back stairs. My steps were dogged all the way up.

I had barely knocked when Jack called us in. He was sitting behind his desk, looking for all the world like he was an official businessman. He smiled a bit, barely noticeable. Well, it was nice that someone was happy to see me.

"Hello, Daniel. Prompt, as usual."

"Jack," I replied. "This is Tim Shepard."

It was a needless introduction, but it gave me something to fill the air with. Jack didn't even spare Tim a glance. He just leaned back in his chair and looked me over like I was amusing him with this little farce. Yeah, well, at least one of us was enjoying himself.

"Did you bring me what I asked for?" he asked and I nodded. "Then I have what you want."

I had nearly forgotten about the bag Tim had been carrying. I didn't like carrying a bag around, but since Tim was going to end up in the fire anyways, I didn't see the harm of putting extra evidence in his hands.

Tim hefted it onto the desk, earning a look of calculation from Jack. But, like I was allowing things tonight, so was Jack. He pushed up from his chair, and opened the bag to inspect what was inside. He looked at it carefully. A moment later, Jack flicked out his switch, pushed his hand into the bag, and came out with the end of the knife showing off white powder. It was with practiced ease that Jack pressed his finger to the powder on the blade, and brought it to his mouth. The small taste was just that – a taste. It wouldn't do a thing to him. I was glad he was the one tasting it. I wasn't sure I could handle that tonight.

"Alright." Jack nodded, opening a drawer on his desk and pulling out a brown envelope.

He dropped it on top of the bag, letting us decide who was going to pick it up. It was like everything – Tim always got first pick. So I didn't bother reaching for it. Tim swiped it off the desk and had it in his coat without counting it. That was the first smart thing I had seen him do in ages. The last thing he wanted was Jack Wyatt feeling insulted.

"How fast will it take you to go through that?" Tim asked, breaking his silence.

Jack sent him a look I knew well enough. Tim had asked a valid question, but the way he's asked it made it sound like Jack was the one who was going to be snorting all of it. Chet wouldn't have a thing to do with him if he did drugs. I was the only exception there. So, naturally, Jack was affronted. I'd known him long enough to see it in the way he set his shoulders.

He sat back down, not bothering to move the bag of product. "I'll be in touch, Daniel."

I knew a dismissal when I heard one. I turned to go, but Tim was still standing there. Oh, that was never good.

"I asked you a question."

I glanced back in time to see Jack look up. Tim had his attention from the moment he walked into the room. Now, he had his focus.

"Tim."

"I will let Daniel know when the bag is empty," Jack replied, avoiding directly addressing Tim.

"Come on, Tim," I tried again.

Tim got the hint – he wasn't going to win. He snapped on his heel and started for the door.

"Daniel?"

I looked back at Jack in surprise. I'd thought I was dismissed for sure.

"Next time, come alone."

I nodded, following Tim back downstairs, and straight outside. Neither of us spoke, even when Tim got the car going and started driving like a lunatic. Tim loved fast driving. Heck, Curly and Angela loved it, too. They'd got that from their dad because Evelina sure as shit hated it if we went a tick over the speed limit.

Tim's fast was too fast for me. I gripped the door hard, keeping from skidding along the front seat. I should have known enough to put on a seatbelt or something. I was relieved when he came to a sliding halt in front of the house. He killed the engine and pinned me with a look. He was getting better at being intimidating; but then, he'd had a very trying night.

"What the hell was that, Blake?" Tim snapped.

"A meeting."

"I told you I want to be able to deal with guys like him!"

I felt like sighing. Tim just wasn't on the same level as they were. He never would be if he had these little fits whenever he didn't get his way. That was the difference between a lifer on the outside, and a lifer on the inside. With the way things were going, Tim would probably end up in prison sooner than even I expected.

"Tim, I told you what they were like," I reasoned. "They don't like outsiders. The really don't like ones who are watched by the fuzz, either. You're just lucky you have me."

I climbed out of the car then, but Tim was right behind me, rounding the car so that my route was blocked. I sighed, guessing he still had something he wanted to say.

"I am getting really sick of you."

"Oh, really? You're not a ray of sunshine, yourself," I growled back. "And you're pretty damn stupid if you think that they're ever going to take white trash like you seriously."

The punch came so quick I didn't expect it. Suddenly, my eyes were watering and my nose felt like it was out of place. I had it cupped between my hands, amazed that Tim had lost his cool enough to hit me. We were step-brothers, so of course we'd fought before. Mostly, it was when we were younger and I had more of a chance against him. I'd lost all urge to mess with him after getting beaten by my father for a long enough period of time, and Tim had either picked up on that, or managed to grow up enough to let me be. I'd just shattered whatever peace was between us, and I couldn't bring myself to care.

"Let's get one thing straight. You came to me. You need me," every word was forced out and drawn between us. "Keep it up with this attitude, and I will end our arrangement. And if the drunk kills you next time, good riddance."

Tim turned for the house, and I watched him go. My nose was still throbbing, but my eyes were back under control. I took a long breath, feeling the bridge of my nose, before pushing it back in line. I groaned through it, feeling like my nose was a metaphor for my whole life – blindsided and broken whenever I let my guard down for thirty seconds, and fixing it was a royal pain.

When my nose stopped throbbing, I glanced up at the house, feeling angry. Tim needed me. There was no way he was going to make any headway on the north side without me. I didn't need him. I could get around Pop, but there was no way Chet wasn't going to suffer from Tim's dumb ass approach to dealing on the north side. So in reality, Tim needed me, and Chet needed me, and I was willing to do a lot for Chet – including putting up with Tim's shit.

I kicked the back tire of his car in retaliation, even though it didn't pay for a broken nose, and it didn't really make me feel all that much better. That was ok. When all this was over, we'd be more than even, and I was sure that'd feel pretty damn good.

* * *

Well, another chapter down!

Any comments at all are welcome, and flames accepted.

See ya in the funny papers!

Tens


	11. Once a Year

Well, I can honestly say I forgot this one was written sometime last summer. I know, go me. I need to invest in some ginkobaloba or whatever it's called. Until then, a chapter.

Disclaimer: The usual

CH 11

It was Saturday morning, and I could honestly say that I didn't mind those at Chéz Shepard. Pop picked up Saturday shifts, and if he didn't, he was easy enough to find down at the tracks, or sleeping it off out in the car. Evelina was always down at the beauty parlour or something. I never bothered to ask, but she always smelled like hair products when she came home late in the afternoon. It was a change from the soapy smell she always had after work.

That left all us kids to our own devices. Meaning, Tim would be out as soon as he was awake enough to leave, Angela would be playing music until she thought she looked perfect enough to go out with her friends, and Curly would be planted right in front of the TV set because he had no desire to even move. Me? Well, I usually found myself bumming around with Curly. I had the weekends off, so I had nowhere else to be, either.

It was with that charming thought in mind that I made my way downstairs, barely catching myself after tripping over what looked to be the garbage bin that we normally kept in the living room. It was pretty useless, as far as bins went. Angela had put her high-heeled foot through the cheap wicker months ago, and it had yet to be replaced or even mended. What it was doing on the stairs was beyond me, but that could be said for everything that ended up on the stairs.

Curly was right where I expected him to be, taking up most of the couch, staring blearily at the TV. I could tell he hadn't been up long. He usually hauled himself out of bed whenever Tim started moving around. I think that was just habit floating around from when they used to share a bedroom. Curly could get real good at sleeping until noon.

I wasn't quite ready to join him. A detour to the kitchen was in store before I could even think of doing that. Every morning, it was my hope that there would be hot coffee waiting for me. And every morning was a disappointment, but that didn't mean I was giving up on the coffee gods just yet. So, keeping all that in mind, it wasn't all that surprising that there was no coffee in the pot, and I was happy enough to find a mostly flat bottle of beer open on the counter. It beat drinking the water around here.

Curly still wasn't awake as I flopped down beside him to watch Daffy Duck and Bugs Bunny trying to get the other killed by Elmer Fudd. If they worked together, they could just kill Elmer, but then no one ever seemed to die in these cartoons. Fried, squashed, blown up, thrown up, terribly injured, and utterly humiliated, sure, but they always bounced back.

"What happened to you?" Curly asked after half an hour of cartoons.

I glanced over at him, catching his squinted look. I just shrugged, taking another sip of beer. "Nothing memorable."

"Looks like it hurt."

I didn't bother replying. I hadn't bothered to ice my face last night, so it was worse than it should have been. The swelling and the bruising would go away before too long, and then it would be forgotten.

"I'll still be good looking in a couple days," I dismissed, drawing an amused snort from the kid.

"I'll be sure to go tell the imaginary line of good looking girls waiting outside."

It was my turn to laugh. I stopped because it made my face hurt, but it was good all the same. "When did you get funny?"

"Probably around the same time you started hanging out with Tim," he replied.

I sighed a little at the way he griped. He had spent the better part of his life following after Tim, and when he wasn't doing that, he was usually palling around with me. I imagine that seeing the pair of us spending time together, and leaving him out, wasn't fun.

"Believe me, kid – This whole thing isn't my idea."

"You two hated each other."

"We still do," I assured him. "We're just working together to make a little money. Once I get what I need, and Tim has what he wants, we won't have anything to do with each other, and you can go back to being the brother he spends time with."

"What are you going to do with money?"

"I'll be eighteen soon," I replied.

"So?"

I glanced at the kid, wondering how much he actually paid attention to around here.

"I'll need the cash to move out," I explained.

"Why would you move out?"

I could actually see where he was coming from there. Tim hadn't moved out when he hit eighteen, so I didn't have to go anywhere. But I wasn't about to stick around, not with the way Pop got.

"Because I want to," I offered, like it was obvious. "Speaking of which, I'm out of here tomorrow."

"What's tomorrow?" Curly asked, rubbing at his right eye roughly.

"Just a regular, good old Sunday," I answered, taking another sip of beer.

Curly sent me a look, like I was odd, but I was his brother, so he'd let it pass. I didn't bother saying anything else, just watching Wiley E. Coyote trying to catch the Road Runner. It kind of reminded me of my own life. Every time I thought I would win, someone dropped something on my head.

The next afternoon, I still felt like the coyote. Only now, I was standing in mid-air, trying to keep running, but there was nothing under my feet. I always felt like that when I had a handful of pulled daisies in my grip, standing beside my dad in front of a stone that marked my mother's dead body. Dad stood there in his best suit, a dozen roses in hand, just like he did every year. He was quiet, unusually so. The old man usually talked up a storm, like Mom lived in a home and we never visited, so he needed to catch her up on everything. But now, Dad was quiet, and it made me feel like yet another thing was changing, and there was nothing that I could do about it. All I managed was setting the flowers down on her grave, staring at the stone.

After what seemed like forever, Dad set the roses beside my sorry looking daisies, kissed his fingers and let them press against the stone for a long moment. He finally turned back towards the car, and I followed, hands shoved deep in my pockets. We both climbed in, and the drive back to the house was silent. I'd been worried about this part all night. I was supposed to be a traitor, doing things for Tim that went against Chet. It didn't look good when I was showing up at home like this. I half expected the boys to be standing out front, ready to face me. I also half expected Tim to be sitting across the street, looking to turn my face into an even bigger mess. Neither was the case. I guess everyone figured a guy deserved to see his dad on the anniversary of his mom's death.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

That, or they decided to wait inside. It had much more class than waiting on the damn lawn, after all...

I peeked around my father, seeing the reason for his growled demand. Sitting on the couch was none other than Riggs – my brother's second in command. As far as I knew, he was welcome around here, but there was a difference between being welcome and just coming inside when we were away.

"Waiting," Riggs replied, like it was nothing.

"You could have waited on the porch," Dad grumbled, moving off down the hall.

We both heard his bedroom door close before Riggs spared me a glance. He was a taller guy and he carried a lot more muscle than most hoods, so most people didn't think he was one. His blonde hair was shaggy, and he never bothered to make sure it was out of his face. He had a deceptive face. He looked like he was nice enough, soft enough that he wouldn't hurt a fly. I knew that was something he used to his advantage. Believe me, I'd seen him squish things much bigger than flies with a pretty damn sadistic look on his face while he did it.

"Hey, Dan-o," he greeted, getting to his feet. "Gosh, you're sure growing up."

I looked younger than Curly, and I hadn't grown an inch since I was 14. I didn't bother to call him on it. I just shrugged a little and eased out of my coat. Riggs picked up on that, coming a bit closer so he could frown at me good and proper.

"What'd you do to your nose?" He asked, tilting my chin up so he could have a look. The bruising was still bad, but the swelling was gone. I'd just look like a racoon for a while.

"I punched myself in the face," I replied smartly.

"Don't get cute," Riggs sighed, still looking at my face like he could identify who hit me if he studied it long enough.

Riggs had always been one of my favourite babysitters, but I didn't need him babysitting me now. So I turned my head and waited. Riggs finally let go, giving me a bit of space.

"Chet sent me over," he explained, going back to sit on the couch. I noticed for the first time that he had the newspaper spread out. "He says hello."

I nodded, wondering what Chet was worried about. And he was worried, or he would never have sent Riggs here today. Riggs was welcome, but Dad still associated him with Mom's death, so he was the last person Dad wanted to see when her loss was all he could think about. I knew Dad associated her death with me too, but I was her kid, and he knew it affected me a lot, if not more so than it affected him.

The point was, whatever Chet was worried about, it had to be a realistic fear. If Tim wasn't outside waiting for me, I didn't have to worry about him, so that left...everyone else on the north side of town. Great. I just hoped the boys weren't about to come over here on some honourable notion of defending Chet.

I sighed and slumped down on the couch beside Riggs, conscience of my nose as I rubbed at my eyes. I felt tired, like an old man. Riggs patted my shoulder, like he knew how I felt.

"What's Chet worried over?" I asked, feeling like I should know that, even if the last thing I wanted to do was talk business.

"What isn't the old boy worried over?" Riggs asked, not sounding amused. "Today, it's you and your dad. He wanted someone to be here because it would look bad if he showed up."

"I'm not buying it."

"Me either," Riggs concurred. "Whatever it is, he's not spilling, and it's only for us to wonder why."

Yeah, that sounded like my brother. Inflated ego and all.

"But, you know, he still sent me," Riggs added and I huffed out a laugh.

"Oh, and what are you going to do if several pissed off hoods break through the door?" I asked, watching Riggs grin.

"Why, invite them in for some of that pizza I picked up earlier."

My eyes widened, I knew they did. I was starving and pizza...

Riggs laughed then. "It's in the kitchen."

I had figured that much out for myself, and I was already pulling the box out while he was still laughing like a mook. The first slice was up to my lips before I knew it. It was cold, and a little greasy, but it hit the spot. I was nearly through a whole piece before I thought to put anything on my plate. I wasn't feeling as ravenous now that there was something in my mouth and tallied up the pizza. I could go through what was there all on my own, so I slipped a couple slices onto the plate and figured Dad might be hungry. Normally I wouldn't bother him if his bedroom door was closed, but today wasn't any ordinary day. I did pause long enough to knock before I pushed the door open, plate in hand.

Dad was sitting on the bed, glancing up from his hands when I walked in. The expression was the same blank one from earlier, which was a sight better than any other look he could have sent me.

"Umm...Riggs brought pizza," I offered, gesturing at the plate.

"I'm not hungry, Danny."

"I know. But you might be – later, I mean. And you know how I get when there's food sitting around."

Dad sighed, running a hand over his face, like he could erase whatever it was that was going on in his head. He let his hand rest on his chin as he looked me over sadly.

"I hate this," he said in a tired voice.

"Dad?" I wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to be hating right then.

"Don't call me that."

I blinked a little bit, suddenly on edge. My dad was one of those people you could trust, no matter what, but I'd never seen him act like this, and I didn't know exactly what to expect. Dad watched me for a long moment, hand running through his hair, tugging on the grey strands. He was really looking his age today.

"I don't deserve it."

I really frowned then. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you. Look at you," Dad sighed, gesturing at me with a sweep of his arm. "You're a sight. Your face is a bruised mess, your clothes look terrible, you're too damn skinny...and you're worried about me eating because you're so hungry...It's all a fucking mess."

Dad shook his head sadly, raking his nails over his neck. I set the plate down on his dresser, feeling completely beaten down right then. This was how Pop always started a beating, but the anger and the disgust that Pop radiated was missing. Instead of feeling the usual fear at the critique, I felt like I was five years old and in trouble with the one man I couldn't stand to disappoint. My throat was tight and I found my eyes were locked on my feet. I wasn't hungry anymore.

"I...I'm sorry," I finally offered and Dad made a noise half between a growl and a groan, getting to his feet.

I didn't bother looking up, even when his feet were toe to toe with mine.

"Daniel Cameron. Look at me."

I did. I couldn't not look at him, not when he was calling me that. Dad's eyes had softened, but they were still terribly sad. He didn't look mad or upset, but I still wished I could fix this for him.

"I'm sorry."

It was the first, and probably the last time I would ever hear my dad say those words. It wasn't something parents said to their kids. Dad must have seen the surprise on my face because he gently wrapped his arms around my shoulders, cheek resting on my head. I burrowed into it, accepting the hug from my dad. I still didn't know what was going on with him, but I felt safe, and I hoped this was helping him, too.

"I'm just...so mad at myself, for all of this," Dad rasped. "I pulled your mother into this life, and I miss her so much, especially today."

"It wasn't your fault," I told him and he shushed me.

"No, not directly," Dad replied. "But when she died, I didn't do what was right for you. And every time I see you like this, I hate myself a little more because I've been too selfish to fix it. Your mother, god rest her, would smack me if she could."

When Mom died, Dad had been broken. She was so much of him that he was lost without her. He'd been too mixed up to put up much of a fight to keep me. He got bitter, and he got gruff, but he was still Dad, so I never blamed him for anything. I knew he'd tried to get me back over the years, but it just wasn't that easy. Pop may have been awful, but he played the good guy far too convincingly when it mattered. I didn't bother trying to tell Dad any of that. He wouldn't believe me. That was where his head was and only he could change that.

"But I'm done with it. Tomorrow, I'm going to fix this. Get a judge's ruling or something."

I only nodded. It was just another idea and it never worked. I supposed in the grand scheme of things, it wasn't such a bad thing. I had too much invested right now for it to actually be the push that got me out of Chéz Shepard.

Dad let me go, patting my shoulder and reaching over for the plate.

"You go eat this. I've got food I can heat up in the fridge."

I just nodded, leaving the room with the plate in my hands. I could hear the rustle of the newspaper in the living room, and I wondered if Riggs had heard any of that. I hoped he hadn't. Either way, I didn't bother going back to the living room. I just set the plate down on the dusty dresser in my own room, flopping down on the bed with a sigh.

It was a good thing we only ever did this once a year. I don't think either of us could take any more than that.

* * *

Well, another chapter down, and I do have the next one started, so we shall see where that goes.

Any comments are welcome and flames are accepted.

See ya in the funny papers!

Tens


	12. Too Convincing

Happy Easter! Yes, I know, I'm a couple days late, but hey. It is easter holidays for my grade 10's and hopefully they are all enjoying the break as much as I have been! My writing has taken a back seat to Globalization for a good solid six weeks now, and I want to get back at it, so for you all - a Danny chapter.

Disclaimer: The usual.

Ch 12

As it turned out, Dad didn't have the chance to do anything about my life on Monday. I was long gone before he even got up. But it really wasn't my choice.

Remember how I once said that on the north side a man's house was neutral ground? Well, I suppose I should define 'neutral'. See, no one ever got shot on their own property. No one ever had bricks or lit bottles of booze come through their windows. It just wasn't how things were done. However, there was absolutely nothing to say that members of your own gang couldn't force open a window and kidnap you out of your bed. And unfortunately, that was just my luck.

It was barely four am and I was fast asleep – like every other person on the north side should have been. But something, some noise or movement, was slowly shaking me from sleep. I wasn't sure what it was – it could have been a million different things from the cat climbing on the dresser, to Riggs shifting on the couch. So I ignored it, rolling over to get some more sleep.

That was when the hand came down over my mouth and someone pinned my arms to my sides. By the time I thought to struggle, a hit had come to the side of my head and I was stunned long enough to be passed out the open window like a sack of contraband.

When I was finally set down, it was a few blocks from home behind a store that was long closed for the night.

"What the hell?" I cursed.

"Not a word, Baby Cameron."

It was still dark, but I didn't need to see them to know who they were. The one who spoke was Michael "Lucky" Bassano. He'd been with Chet for about four years now. He'd come into the gang as a survivor of several things that should have killed him, so everyone called him Lucky. He ended up signing with Chet because of his best friend, Jimmy Kent. Jimmy wasn't much. He could pick a lock, but his real talent was that he knew everyone and could get anything he wanted in the state with just a phone call. That made him pretty useful. But he needed Lucky to be his tough front.

And together, the pair of them did some pretty dumb things. But this really took the cake.

"Oh great," I sighed.

"Shut up," Lucky ordered. "Go flag the car, Jimmy."

Jimmy rustled off a moment later and I decided to push my luck and find my feet again. No sooner was I vertical than Lucky had me back on my ass.

"Fine, Lucky. Mind if I light a smoke?"

"You have any in your pockets when you fell asleep?"

"No, but seeing as how you shanghaied me, I figured you'd have the decency to provide one measly cancer stick."

Lucky seemed to think on it for a minute before the flash of a lighter split the darkness. I could make him out clearly for a second, and I didn't like the look in his eyes. Like I said, they did some pretty dumb things. I just hoped that they didn't add me to the list.

Yeah, you heard me. I honestly wouldn't put it past these two to make me disappear.

So, why was I sitting here, accepting the half smoked stick from Lucky instead of running for it? Well, I'd already been knocked on my ass once. I didn't figure to hit the pavement again.

"You gonna ask?" Lucky inquired after a while.

"Why you nabbed me?" I clarified, receiving an affirmative grunt. "I'm pretty sure I figured that one out."

Lucky chuckled. "I have to hand it to you, kid – you're pretty stupid to backstab Chet like that, but you ain't dumb."

"No, just crazy," Jimmy threw in.

"Where's the car?" Lucky asked, sounding plenty annoyed.

"Oh, the car ain't much of our worry right now," Jimmy replied, his voice rather tight.

Lucky growled a bit, but stopped. I glanced over, wondering what was up with my dimwitted kidnappers now. It was dark behind the building, but I could see the shadow Jimmy cast. Well, I could see the shadow Jimmy cast if he was two and a half Jimmy's thick.

"What are you talking about?" Lucky demanded.

"He's talking about me."

I started to laugh and Lucky aimed a solid kick to my gut. It hurt, but boy was it worth it.

"Babysitter," Lucky sighed.

"Ah, now Luck, it was a nice try," Riggs offered. "Admirable effort and all that."

"I told you he was going to be trouble," Jimmy grumbled.

"Trouble or not, what were we supposed to do?"

Yeah, there wasn't much that they could do to Riggs, seeing as how he was second in command. Touching Riggs was just about as suicidal as touching Chet. Touching me used to be as bad as touching Chet, but I was a traitor now, and such things went out the window when you did that.

"You know, as soon as you leave him alone, he's ours," Lucky pointed out.

"I'll be sure to bring that up with Chet when I see him," Riggs offered, all the lightness in his tone gone. "Or maybe we should call him up right now? You know how he is before six in the morning."

I had to hand it to him there. Chet was awful about being up before six, heck even seven was pushing things. If there was a fight in the morning, he was usually the most unforgiving when he pounded on people.

"So, are we going to have a problem?" Riggs asked, still holding onto Jimmy, I noticed.

"We'll be talking to Chet about this," Lucky offered, but it was enough for Riggs to let go of Jimmy.

"Watch your back, babysitter," Jimmy said, following Lucky down the alley.

"Anytime, Jim."

I listened as their footsteps disappeared down the alley, not bothering to get up. I just kept smoking, waiting for Riggs to make the first move. He slid down beside me, sitting against the wall like we were just two guys killing time in a dark alley.

"I am getting far too old for this, Danno."

"Dealing with punks like them, or pulling me out of trouble?" I asked, wondering what he meant.

"Both. I'm not twenty anymore," he explained, taking the cigarette from me so he could take a drag.

"Were you ever?"

You grew up quick on the north side. I wondered if Riggs had a childhood, let alone his twenties. He snorted in reply and we both sat, listening to the noises of the alley around us. There was a rat somewhere to the left of us, but I didn't figure it would be curious enough to come over.

"C'mon. Your father will kill me if you catch your death," Riggs ordered, getting up with all the grace of a mountain lion.

So I got to my feet and followed Riggs all the way home, kind of missing the foot service I'd gotten with Lucky and Jimmy carrying me. They weren't as dumb as I thought. They'd managed to get nearly across the neighbourhood before they stopped.

Riggs didn't bother going back in the house. He steered me towards his car and let the engine break the silence of the quiet municipal street. I really wasn't all that surprised when he drove me back across the river and stopped right outside Chéz Shepard. It was early enough that there was no one awake enough to care about what gang Riggs was from, so I didn't worry about it.

"I don't think it's the best idea for you to come home anymore, Danny."

"I know," I sighed, feeling like I was getting cut off again. And this was just after Dad really sounded like he was going to do something.

"It's almost over."

I nodded. Yeah, one way or another, this was almost over. Either I was going to be done doing what Chet had asked, or I was going to be eighteen and free to do whatever the hell I wanted with my life. But "soon" felt like a lifetime away during moments like this.

Riggs roughly patted me on the shoulder, ignoring the way I flinched under the touch. The sun wasn't even up yet, and my nerves were already shot for the day. With that in mind, I stood and watched as Riggs pulled away, before turning and walking east. I couldn't go into Chéz Shepard like this, so I was going to hoof it for a few hours.

That was how I ended up walking around the neighbourhood until six am hit. The diner was dimly lit, but I knew Mr. Dawson never showed up to work past five thirty a day in his life. I may not have been his favourite person, but he never turned down help.

"Morning," I called, walking into the kitchen.

"You're early," Mr. Dawson offered. "For once."

I didn't argue with him. I was about three hours early. That only happened when I was trying to be anywhere but home, and he knew it. So he didn't give me a hard time about it, just gestured at the stove with a grunt. It needed to be cleaned, started up, and then all the food needed to be prepped for the day. Mr. Dawson usually did it all on his own and it wasn't hard to do, but I could tell that he was happy I was around. He didn't show it or say it, but I could tell after all these years of working with the guy. I didn't mind working on all this preparation, but it gave me time to think, and there was only one thing on my mind these days.

I knew now that this assignment was a lot more serious than I had thought up to this point. At least I was doing something right if I was convincing both the Shepards and our guys. Jim and Lucky really believed I was a traitor if they were pulling kidnappings in the middle of the night, which meant Riggs was right – there was no going home for a long time. That was going to hurt Dad, and it was going to hurt me. There would be a lot of hurts to heal after all this was said and done.

It was another hour before Gwen showed up. She and Mr. Dawson ran the breakfast rush so that Lily didn't have to show up until at least nine. Gwen was in her sixties and she was a nice old lady. But I hated the way that she took a hold of my chin and tutted the bruises that were still on my face. They would be gone fairly soon, but that didn't change the fact that they were there and things were still painful. She was one of the main reasons I didn't work early in the morning before Lily's shift. Gwen liked to mother me and I had lived too many years without a mom to appreciate it now. At least Lily made for a good distraction in that department.

I was pretty glad when Lily showed up right a nine. Mr. Dawson was ready to leave, and then he would be in later on in the evening to close. He said as much when he grunted out his goodbye and tromped out of the diner without another look in my direction. That didn't bother me. Right then I was sitting in the back, munching on some toast, and that was a good way to be on a morning like this. Lily came into the kitchen a couple minutes after her dad left, hanging up her coat beside mine, and straightening out her shirt so that the bruises on her side were covered up. I frowned a little. Every time I saw her she looked more beat up than the time before.

"When's the wedding?" I asked pointedly, watching as her shoulders slumped.

"Not today, Danny," she sighed, hurrying out to help out Gwen.

Yeah, it was a low blow, but these kind of things never got better when you threw marriage into the equation. I just wished she could see that as clearly as I could. I rubbed at my nose and winced a bit. It was kind of like family that way.

I wondered why Mr. Dawson was letting any of this happen. I supposed it was because the guy had money and Lily wanted to marry him or something. All I knew was that if I ever survived to have a kid, I would never let something like this happen to one of them without saying something about it.

I thought back to my own dad and figured that I wasn't really one to talk. My dad was a great guy but here I was.

Yeah, here I was, and a fine mess it was, too.

I stood up and glanced back out the galley window. When the place opened, Switch stumbled in looking for a cup of coffee and some breakfast with his eyes barely opened. He was still sitting right where I'd left him, and I was sure he was going to stay there until either my brother or Riggs said otherwise. I figured that Riggs had sent him after everything that had happened last night. I didn't appreciate that. It wasn't that I was ungrateful for them working to keep me safe, but they didn't know what all was going on.

For example, sitting at the counter, like he had been for the past fifteen minutes, was none other than Booger. That meant Tim had a reason for watching me. I didn't like that, either. In short, between my brothers, I had far too many babysitters.

I sighed, rubbing at my forehead. I kept telling myself that it wouldn't be too long now. Just a couple more drops and Chet's buddy in the fuzz could swoop in and arrest Tim and his lackeys. Then my life would be even more up in the air than it was already. I'd have to go live with Chet because I was pretty sure he was the only one who could keep me alive, and that meant a new job, a new set of friends, a new life completely...

What? You thought people actually crossed Tim and got off scot-free? I'd seen him have people beaten for messing with things in his territory, and sending him to jail would be a lot worse than that. It wouldn't matter that we were family, in fact that might just make it worse since we'd never gotten along in all the years that we had been related to one another.

I let out a long breath. Just a few more drops and my life was going to be perfect.

I just had to get there.

* * *

Well, I know that one gives you the impression I have no idea where this is going, but fear not - there is a plan in my head!

Any comments at all are welcome and flames accepted.

See ya in the funny papers!

Tens


	13. A Day at Chéz Shepard

Well, I appear to be on a roll with this one! I've got an awful cold, and writing this is keeping me relaxing and getting better! If you can avoid this cold, please do!

Disclaimer: The usual.

CH 13

It was Wednesday before I had to do anything about my assignment. I was glad for some time off. As much as I acted like I didn't care, the whole kidnapping attempt got to me. It was one thing to be worried about Tim and the Tigers and everyone else on the south side, but it was another to worry about the people who were supposed to have my back.

But like I said, it was Wednesday before Tim demanded I come down to the club house. Tim was not a happy camper, and when he wasn't a happy camper, the whole world usually ended up suffering for it. He kind of reminded me of that tiger at the zoo we'd gone to when I was eight. Pacing, prowling, moving furiously, and ready to strike anything that added to his mood. That was why both me and Calligher were standing there silently, just letting him move like a restless cat.

"How the hell can Wyatt be out?" Tim growled, clearly unimpressed.

"You made a very bad first impression," I told him, and not for the first time.

Tim stopped pacing in order to give me a withering look. Like I said, he was not a happy camper. Aside from the fact I didn't like it when Tim was in one of these moods; this was exactly what I needed him doing right now. It was part of the plan. I needed Tim mad and reckless. Well, apparently Chet needed Tim mad and reckless. Chet could be the one to deliver the fake bad news next time.

"Watch it, kid. You've already put me in a foul enough mood."

"Tim, this is not my fault."

"The hell it isn't! You gave me no clear run down on how things were going to go in there. If I made a bad impression, it all falls on you."

Tim had cleared the space between us and was giving me a glare that would probably freeze water. His left hand found a spot on the wall by my head and I shrunk down a bit, having had Pop use this intimidation on me more than once.

"I told you to follow my lead," I told him, sounding about as assertive as a kitten.

Tim's right hand slammed into the wall by my head and I jumped, feeling the fine vibration in my bones that always preceded trembling. It just went to show how shot my nerves were these days.

"Your lead? Who the hell is the boss here?"

"You!" I squeaked.

"Then you'd better fix this. Now."

I nodded, watching Tim move away, and Jake sigh. I ran a shaking hand through my hair and moved towards the phone. Wyatt's number was easy enough to spin into the dial and I only had to wait two rings before it was answered.

"_Yes?"_

"It's Danny."

"_Hello, Daniel," _Wyatt's tone warmed._ "You sound unsettled."_

"I'll be ok."

"_Hold on one moment."_

I nodded, not really having a choice. I listened as the phone was passed around and nearly choked when I heard a new voice come on the line.

"_Hey, Danno. Don't talk, just listen."_

Chet's voice was soothing and I tried not to look like I was relaxing. That would have definitely been bad for Tim to see.

"_Tell Shepard to be at Wyatt's at 3. Let him bring his second instead of you, alright?"_

"Yeah. Today at 3," I repeated back so that he knew that I had been paying attention.

"_Good. Tell him to bring the usual amount. Jack just might be persuaded into buying it if he makes the right impression."_

"The usual amount." I nodded.

"_And Dan? You're doing good, kiddo. I knew you were the right man for the job."_

I felt a smile coming on and barely caught myself from showing how happy my brother's words had made me. That was all I wanted to get out of any of this – for Chet to be proud of me for finally taking an interest in the gang.

"_Daniel,"_ Jack was back on the line. _"Tell the oaf not to be late."_

"Sure, Jack."

"_Goodbye, Daniel."_

The line went dead and I held the phone for a long moment before putting it back on the cradle. I turned back to Tim, Chet's praise boosting me up enough so that I could face him.

"Well?" Tim snapped.

"He wants to have another meeting at his place at three. Bring the usual product, just in case."

"Good."

"Just you, though."

"Where are you going to be?" Tim asked, looking suspicious.

"Wyatt wants to meet you without me as a middle man, I guess. And since I fucked it all up last time, it might be a good idea," I told him.

"You got that right. Jake, you're with me."

"Oh goody," Jake drawled. "A meeting in the middle of enemy territory with a guy who doesn't like you already. Should be fun."

"Enough, Jake."

"And he said don't come if you're going to be late," I reminded.

Tim sent me another look that had me ducking my head and inching towards the door. I was nearly out when Jake spoke again.

"Danny, any pointers for us?" Jake asked, craning his head to look at me.

"Yeah. Don't be rude, and don't be late."

I ducked my head out then, making my way through the club house as quickly as I could without looking like I was in a terrible hurry. I felt like I had something pumping through my system, making me nervous and jumpy, like my nerves were singing under my skin. Weeks of work, of acting like Tim was my boss, like I had to do whatever he said, and now things were finally happening. Sure, it would just be a couple Fuzz sitting in Jack's, watching Tim and Calligher sell a bunch of drugs, but it was enough to put him and Calligher there. Then when a bigger shipment went in, they'd take him down. For now, this was just setting things up for later.

I nearly felt like skipping all the way back to Chéz Shepard. Of course, River Kings don't skip unless they're trying to distract people. So I put up with a little bounce in my step until I was through the front doors. The TV was on and I cautiously looked around the corner to make sure Pop wasn't home. That would just ruin my new found good mood. Who was home was surprising.

"What're you doing home, Chuckles?" I asked, flopping down on Curly's feet at the far end of the couch.

"Don't call me that," Curly groaned, pulling his feet out from under me.

"It suits you."

"Yeah, well, I don't like it."

I felt like laughing. "Oh, there are a lot of things in life that will happen, whether you like them or not."

Curly grunted, turning his attention back to the TV. He looked glazed over, like he had been sitting there all day. That couldn't be healthy.

"I asked you something," I prodded, poking his calf.

"Suspended," Curly replied back, kicking his leg at me to give me the hint. Yeah, poking him was more fun.

"What did you do?" I asked, prodding his leg again.

"Your boney fingers hurt, damn it," Curly cursed, throwing both his legs over my lap. "And I may have told my Math teacher where she could shove her fractions."

I winced a little. When you said something like that, the teacher sent you down to see the Vice Principal. At Will Rogers, it was Dale Gruber, and the man seemed to think going heavy on the strap solved everything. I'd only gotten it once while I was still attending, and I'd walked out of there with one of my fingers swollen up so badly that Dad was sure it was broken. Of course Pop told me it was good discipline and I should shut up about it, but it still didn't seem right to me.

"How're your hands?" I asked.

"Sore. I have some frozen peas re-freezing in the box," he assured me, flexing his fingers slowly.

"How long are you suspended for?" I asked, thinking it was probably a couple days.

"I can come back on Monday. Why? Gonna take me out on a picnic?"

I snorted, trying to imagine me and him out in the park on a checked blanket. "And ruin a perfectly good meal out in the park? Besides, suspended isn't something to celebrate."

Curly didn't bother replying. He just dug his heel into my thigh and I winced. If he kept that up, I was going to get a Charlie-horse.

"So, was that a hint to spend some time with my baby brother today?"

"What, you don't have plans with your best buddy Tim?" Curly flat out sniffed like a Soc when he said that. I was hard put not to laugh.

"Nope. Just you and me."

Curly snorted a little, like he didn't believe a word of that. I guess I had been ignoring the little monkey lately. As it turned out, we ended up sitting on the couch all afternoon, watching silly things like Perry Mason and Rawhide. I never really saw the point to TV, except to keep Pop entertained after a long day at work. It just wasn't something I could get into. I had a terrible imagination.

It was roughly four o'clock when Curly and I were disturbed by Tim and Calligher. They both looked like they were in one piece, so I figured they were successful. Not that Jack and Chet hadn't set them up to be, but Tim and Jake didn't know that.

"How'd it go?" I yawned, feeling mushy after focusing on the box for so long.

"It went fine," Tim snapped. "Turns out you were the problem."

I shrugged. If only he knew.

"Oh well," I offered, waving it off.

Tim walked over so he was standing right in front of me, sending me that same pissy look he'd had on in the club house while he was chewing me out. It looked like he was ready to start in on round two.

"All you have to say is 'oh well'? I'm starting to wonder if all these deals would go better without you in them," Tim threatened.

"Alright, alright. It went well, that's good," I offered, giving Tim a small grin.

Tim sent me another look before he ruffled Curly's hair and made his way towards his bedroom with Jake in tow. Curly muttered something, trying to fix his hair without much luck. The grease needed to be re-combed and I could only imagine Tim's hand was covered with it. With a grunt, Curly dug his heel into my thigh and pushed himself into a seated position, getting up to find a mirror to deal with his image. I ruffled my own shaggy hair, pushing the fluffy blond locks out of my eyes. Yeah, it had been years since I'd bothered with hair grease. I hated the way it made my head feel. It weighed too much and made my hair feel stiff. The whole thing gave me a headache.

I yawned a little, stretching out the muscles that had softened up while the TV had been blaring at us all afternoon. I was just about to wobble to my feet when the door opened again and Pop came into the house. This was the first time I had seen him this close since the whole belt buckle incident and I wasn't looking for a repeat on that. So I stayed still and hoped he would just ignore me.

And pigs flew...

"Hey, Danny-boy," Pop greeted, tossing his coat and lunchpail on the mail table.

God, how I hated that nickname...

"Hi, Pop."

"Since when do you watch TV?" He asked, gesturing at the box.

"I don't," I replied, tensing all those soft and sleepy muscles so I could get up and be somewhere Pop wasn't.

"You do," Pop pointed out, walking over to the couch.

Now, Tim had done this exact same thing five minutes ago and it wasn't intimidating. Pop didn't even look like he was trying and I was beginning to feel like a cornered animal. He just loomed over me for a second before flopping down on the couch beside me. I could feel the heat coming off him – the man had always been a furnace – and being this close was causing me to shake. No one could put the fear of god into my like my Pop.

"I should..." I started, pushing myself up.

"Sit," Pop ordered, pushing down on my shoulder so I fell back onto the couch.

Pop stretched out a bit, propping his right foot on what passed for a coffee table since the last one was broken. It was a sheet of wood thrown over a couple milk crates, but clearly it worked for now. Pop looked like he was good and comfortable, eyes focused on the TV, and head resting against the back of the couch. It was like he was completely oblivious to the fact I was shaking beside him, going out of my mind trying to figure out what he wanted. I hadn't been around since he'd decided to cut up my back, and I hadn't been causing any trouble that would get back to him. So whatever he wanted, I honestly didn't deserve. I hated it, though. I would much rather know what I did so that I could gage what I was going to get out of it before the beating started.

It seemed like forever passed before Pop bothered to open his mouth. "Where've you been?"

I glanced at Pop out of the corner of my eye, throwing all the rules out the window. I didn't care about how I looked right then. Slicing up my back the way he did had been one of the worst things he'd ever done to me, ranking right up there with the time he'd busted my sternum when I was high. It felt like a heart attack and the doctors couldn't give me anything until I'd come off my trip because no one knew what I had been taking at the time. I guess it wasn't so bad because I _was_ high, but I had been completely sober for the belt and it had changed the whole way I looked at him.

"Around," I offered, hunching my shoulders, waiting on the hit that was taking far too long to come.

"Not around here," Pop pointed out, still making no move to hit me.

"I've been sleeping here, but things at the diner have been really busy and –"

"Right," Pop cut me off. "You've been hanging around with Tim's hoodlums."

I blinked. Now, how had he found out about that...?

"I..."

I really had nothing to say to that. Usually my Pop only noticed it when I did something he didn't like around the house. He was normally too drunk or too busy working to worry about things that went on outside the house.

"I don't want you getting involved in that shit, Danny-boy," Pop said very seriously.

I hated the serious tone. When he got like this, he was laying down some law I would have to follow or face the consequences. And it never seemed to be a law I could keep from breaking to his satisfaction.

"You started up with it before you moved here, and it killed your mother."

Translation – I killed Mom. He wasn't about to let me forget that as long as I lived. Whether he was twisting it around to get a reaction out of me, or stating it plainly like this, it was always phrased so I felt a knot of guilt start in my chest.

"So here's what's going to happen. You're not going to hang around with those boys, and I'm going to pretend this was never an issue."

I nodded, the only response I was ever allowed.

"If I hear you're hanging around with them again, I bought a brand new pair of boots the other day."

I flinched. Pop only wore boots for work, and in the factory they had to be steel-toed - it was manditory. It added a ton of power to the normal kick and stomp routine.

"Rob," Curly grunted, narrowing his eyes when he came back and spotted Pop sitting on the couch beside me.

"Hey, Charlie. Go grab me a beer," Pop ordered.

Curly looked like he was thinking on it for a moment before turning to go and do that. Pop may not have hit Curly, but he was still intimidating. The worst part was that if he didn't do what Pop asked him and it got back to Evelina...well, she wasn't so nice about it.

I really wasn't surprised when Tim and Jake followed Curly back into the room. Tim wasn't much nicer to me these days, in fact he took a lot of his temper tantrums out on me, but he was looking out for my interests where Pop was concerned since it was easier to get things done when I wasn't laid up on the couch.

"Here," Curly grumbled, shoving the beer out so Pop could take it. And for the record, Pop never said thank you for anything, so Curly didn't wait for it.

Curly flopped down at the far end of the couch, leaving Jake to take the arm chair, and Tim to sit right beside Pop. I figured they were trying to be helpful, but I wasn't relaxing at all. I was still sitting here shaking, wishing I could just light up a smoke or something. I needed a smoke.

I honestly thought I was going to have a stroke when Evelina walked in with a couple bags of groceries and a scowl on her face. She glanced at where we were all sitting, her eyebrow raised slightly in surprise. I guess it wasn't every day that she came home to a sight like this.

"Hi, Ma," Curly greeted when she cleared her throat.

"Curly," she replied. "How many of you are plannin' on being here for supper?"

Pop looked up, seeming to take notice of everyone there for the first time. "I don't know about your boys, but Danny is."

She looked surprised and I figured I looked equally shocked. It wasn't often I got invited for dinner. Tim and Curly both glanced at me, and I wished they wouldn't. I had no control over this.

"Curly and I could eat," Tim offered, elbowing Curly so he nodded, as well.

"Jakob?" Evelina prodded, causing Calligher to stand.

"Thanks for the offer, but dinner is waiting for me at home," he declined, heading towards the door. "See you tomorrow, Tim."

"Jake," Tim grunted.

We all fell silent when the door closed. Evelina finally looked at us like we were all useless and growled a little, shifting the bags around.

"One of you boys can come and peel potatoes or we're not eating tonight."

"Well, you heard your mother – get." Pop shoved my shoulder so I nearly toppled over, but I got the hint and got up to go help Evelina.

She was busy putting away the groceries when I walked in, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye. She didn't have to tell me what needed to be done. I'd helped out in the kitchen enough times to know what was required. I set up on the far side of the table with the bag of potatoes and a knife, focusing on carefully peeling the skin off, glancing over at Evelina from time to time. And like it was bound to happen, I caught her eye on the fourth or fifth time. I jumped a little, ducking my head back down so I didn't end up slicing off a finger.

"Your father talked to you?" she asked and I nodded. "Keep in mind that you only have a few more months until you're eighteen."

I glanced up, wondering what she meant by that. She was focused on the chicken, cutting up the bird into pieces that would feed all of us. She brought the knife down particularly hard on a leg joint and I jumped a bit. I got what she was saying then. I only had a few more months here, but if I wasn't careful she'd remind me in ways I wasn't sure I'd survive. Like I said, Pop I could handle – he had tells. Evelina was a whole other story.

It was right then and there that I made the decision that even if it caused waves; I wasn't going to be here on my eighteenth birthday. I knew right then that if Pop didn't kill me, it would be her.

And wasn't that just a great thought.

* * *

Well, we hadn't seen any family action for a while, so hopefully that makes up for it!

Any comments at all are welcome and flames are accepted.

See ya in the funny papers!

Tens


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